On Your Six
by usa123
Summary: Tony and Steve look after each other. It's what good teammates do. Alternating chapters of Steve and Tony whump throughout the years. Team as Family themes. No slash, no ships.
1. Steve: Sick

_2012_

It started with a sneeze—

_"Did you just sneeze? I don't think I've ever heard you sneeze before."_

_"It's just the dust in the air, Tony," Steve said with exasperation. To prove his point, he waved his hand in front of his face and parted the thick cloud that had risen after they'd opened the door of the warehouse that supposedly housed hundreds of pieces of Chitauri tech._

—then a cough—

_"You alright man?"_

_"Yeah," Steve said when he could breathe again. "Just choked on my water."_

_"Considering you're almost a hundred, I'd've thought you'd've figured out that was bad already."_

_Steve lifted his hand to signal the waitress. "Barton will take the check."_

—then the tiredness—

_Steve held up a hand and stepped away from Natasha, resting his gloved hands on top of his skull to open up his lungs._

_"Everything okay, Steve?"_

_"Didn't sleep well last night," he lied between heaving inhales. They'd barely begun their normal workout routine and here he was struggling to catch his breath. "Guess it tired me out more than I thought."_

_Natasha looked at him and he could tell she didn't quite believe him but she nodded. "Okay, let's call it a day then. Same time tomorrow?"_

_"Count on it."_

By this time, Steve should have suspected this was more than a random series of events, but he was so worn out from the last few months of Avenging that his brain didn't put the pieces together. Truly convinced that a lack of sleep was at fault, Steve headed straight to his room and stripped out of clothes that were sweatier than usual before crawling into bed and pulling the covers tightly around his chin.

He was asleep within the minute.

* * *

"Captain Rogers."

"G'way," Steve managed to mumble, his mouth dry and cottony.

"Captain Rogers, I must insist you wake briefly."

It took quite an effort but Steve managed to pull himself from sleep long enough to open one thousand-pound eyelid. His chest began aching with fervor and a cough slipped out of his mouth, jarring him into full consciousness.

"Wh't, J'r'v's?" he croaked around a fiercely-aching throat.

"Captain Rogers, I do believe you are sick."

"Can't…be." Steve rolled onto his side and reached for the unused tissue box beside his bed. His arm felt like a lead weight and it took him more than one try to grab the protruding tissue and use it to blow his nose. "Serum," he stated with a phlegmy voice.

"I agree that this is most unusual but that is my conclusion based on the scans which I took the liberty of performing to ensure your continued health."

Steve shot upright, the motion sending spikes of pain through his stiff body. If he was truly sick, then he'd caught something strong enough to get past the serum. Either that or the serum was failing—he'd always suspected that it was going to quit someday, having not been designed to last more than one lifetime, but he'd been hoping he'd have a few more years, given the plethora and availability of food and nutrients in this century—

"Captain Rogers, I need you to calm down. Your heart rate is dangerously high."

"Serum," Steve squeaked out as a bout of sneezes racked his body. "Still've serum?"

JARVIS was quiet for an achingly long moment. "It seems that way but you will need a blood test to confirm. I can send in Mister Stark or Dr. Banner if—"

"No!" Steve exclaimed, then doubled over as a coughing fit ensued.

"Captain Rogers, it is my conclusion that you've worn yourself out the past few weeks, making yourself susceptible to a common cold. I have no reason to believe that any foul play was at fault."

As his heart rate began to normalize, Steve nodded; he was okay, he still had the serum, he could still be Captain America—

"Your fever is climbing, Captain. I am under orders to alert the Tower when such an anomaly occurs."

"Wait, JARVIS—" Steve began, but he was overtaken by round of coughing so intense that dark spots flashed in front of his vision and his lungs burned from lack of oxygen.

"Oh, shit!"

Suddenly, a warm hand was rubbing circles on his back. It wasn't helping much, but Steve appreciated the thought all the same.

"Just breathe, okay? Breathe. In and out.. In and out... That's it."

Steve wanted to see who the voice belonged to, but his main focus was on pulling in as much air as he could between coughs. His lungs were aching, his brain was screeching, and his vision was starting to darken around the edges.

"JARVIS, start the shower! As hot as it will go!" Someone grabbed Steve's legs and moved them off the bed. Then a hand was under his arm, lifting him, and before he knew it, he was resting next to something cool. Steve leaned his head against it, relishing in its minute relief.

"Deep breaths, Steve. Breathe in the hot air."

Steve took a shaky breath which ended up setting off another round of coughs.

"That's okay, try again."

Aiming for a shallower breath, he did as he was asked. This time, he felt the hot air swell in his lungs and start to chip away at the vice wrapped around his ribs.

"That's it."

Steve's total focus was on breathing, until his lungs no longer ached with lack of oxygen. He thought his vision was still blurry but slowly realized it was just the thick haze of stream hanging in the air. He squinted and looked at his surroundings, realizing he was sitting on the far side of a massive shower, just out of the direct spray. The shower door was almost completely closed sans a small slit through which Tony was staring concernedly.

"Thanks," Steve gasped.

Tony nodded but still looked incredibly freaked out. "You're sick," he stated, after a long moment.

"Seems…th't way."

"Have you been tested for biological weapons? Infectious diseases? Plague? Cholera?"

Thankfully before Steve had to reply, JARVIS chimed in and repeated what he'd told Steve earlier.

"Blood test to confirm," Tony mumbled as he pulled out his phone and tapped out a text. "Bruce is on his way," he reported a moment later. Then he looked up at the ceiling. "When all this is over, we're going to have a serious conversation about what you call 'sick', J."

"I did the best I could, sir. Your response was, 'Ha, good one, JARVIS. Let's go see what Gramps is really up to.'"

As much as he tried to hide it, one corner of Steve's mouth lifted slightly.

"And look, a smile. He must really be sick."

Steve responded by flipping Tony off. The inventor just shrugged, then began rooting through the bottom drawer in Steve's bathroom. "You have any cold meds on this floor? And don't tell me you don't need them. You obviously do."

Steve just shook his head.

"I didn't think so. JARVIS?"

"The closest ones are on Agent Barton's floor. He is not in the Tower but has previously given permission for his floor to be accessed in case of emergencies. DUM-E will bring them to you shortly."

"Thanks," Steve croaked out.

"When was the last time you ate or drank something?" Tony asked, turning back to Steve.

It took Steve's foggy brain longer than it should have to churn out an answer. "Last night?"

Tony sighed. "J, have the kitchen send up some soup. Chicken noodle is best but a close substitute would be..." He looked expectantly at Steve.

"Tomato," Steve muttered as he wiped his dripping nose on the back of his hand.

Suddenly a box of Kleenex was chucked into his lap. Steve grimaced, then pulled a tissue from the box before they became too damp to use. By the time he could breathe through one nostril again, the shower door had opened long enough for Tony to stick a trash can through before it quickly returned to its usual slit.

At that exact moment, concern lanced through Steve's stuffy brain and he rolled his head to the right so he could look directly at Tony. "Shouldn't be here," he rasped, tapping at his sternum, in the exact spot where Tony's reactor would be.

From the other side of the glass, Tony scoffed. "Well, I can't exactly leave you in this state."

"'ARVIS?" Steve asked, looking up at the ceiling for support.

"Dr. Banner _is_ on his way, sir..."

"Go. Don' want 'ou," Steve paused to cough painfully, "to get you sick."

Tony looked back at the door, then tapped a bit on his phone. "I'll be fine once DUM-E gets here. Just try not to breathe on me in the interim."

Steve rolled his head slightly in the other direction and nodded.

By the time Dr. Banner arrived, Steve was back in his own bed and propped up by a truly amazing number of pillows. He'd managed to talk Tony into wearing a mask and gloves, which the inventor had sent DUM-E to retrieve from his lab. Steve'd also downed a truly amazing number of cold meds, knowing they probably weren't going to do any good, but Tony had looked so desperate it had been hard to say no.

Banner, despite not being that kind of doctor, took Steve's vitals and drew a few small vials of his blood. "I'll need a lab to confirm, but I think you just have a cold. We'll keep an eye on it though, in case it heads toward bronchitis."

"But how is he sick?" Tony asked, his voice soft from behind the mask.

"General exhaustion, based the schedule JARVIS sent me. Made him susceptible to things he'd normally be able to fight off."

"Hear that, Cap? I told you that rota Fury has you running was too much."

"But I was fine," Steve protested weaakly. He then rubbed at his sternum as his lungs started to ache again.

"I think _was _was the opportune word," Bruce said with a kind smile. "I'll get your blood running, then I'll track down some stronger meds to mitigate whatever symptoms you might have."

"'anks," Steve mumbled as he leaned his thousand-pound head back into his mountain of pillows and closed his equally heavy eyes.

"Try not to get him too worked up," he heard Bruce tell Tony, who responded with an indignant squawk of protest.

Steve briefly remembered smiling before sleep pulled him under.

* * *

Thankfully, Bruce's labs confirmed Steve had indeed caught a strong derivative of the common cold. He was prescribed with OTC meds in truly fantastic quantities, a nebuilizer to keep his chest open, fluids, and rest. As much as he wanted to protest that he didn't need to be in bed all day, he did little but sleep the next few days. He was vaguely aware of food and water appearing by his bed, and brief flashes of all the Avengers, but not much else.

Finally, on the third day, he opened his eyes and didn't feel like groaning. He was actually able to stumble to the bathroom on his own accord, throw some water on his face, and attempt to brush his limp hair out of his eyes. Changing clothes was a bit of a challenge, but he managed to worm into an oversized hoodie and sweatpants before heading downstairs.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Barton quipped as soon as Steve set foot in the kitchen. Steve did his best to make it to the coffee maker but his center of gravity tipped a few steps in and dumped him into a bar stool.

Thankfully, Barton, after making sure Steve was steady, rose to pour Steve a cup of coffee. "How are you feeling?" he then asked as he slid the coffee down the counter.

"Finally better." Steve took a sip of the liquid and could have cried at how good it felt going down his sore throat. "How's Tony?"

"Hanging out in his lab, working on some project for Fury."

"Is he sick?"

"Not that I know of."

"JARVIS?"

"Mr. Stark is not sick, Captain. But he does ask not to be disturbed until his project is complete."

"Please tell him thank you. For all he did."

"I will relay that message, Captain." With that, JARVIS fell silent.

"That's not all you're going to do, is it?"

Steve looked back at Clint and shook his head. He hadn't given it much thought until now, given that he'd only been able to string two coherent thoughts together ten minutes ago, but as soon as Clint said it, Steve knew it was something he had to do. He didn't remember much of the last few days but he had a faint recollection of Tony getting him into the shower, which allowed him to breathe without feeling like knives were stabbing into his lungs.

"Good." Clint upended his bowl of cereal and slurped down the remnants. "Cos the guy barely left your side, even though literally _everyone_ advised him against it."

That Steve hadn't known. "He'd do the same for all of you," he replied. Unfortunately, it wasn't until the words were out of his mouth that he realized how callous they sounded.

Clint quirked an eyebrow and Steve rushed to amend his previous statement. "You know what I meant." That he wasn't special. That Tony's heart of gold, as much as he wanted to deny it, extended to the other four members of the Avengers as well.

Clint's somber expression held for another three seconds before he broke into a wide grin. "Yeah, I did. I was just messin' with you." He slid his bowl down the counter so it came to a stop right at the edge of the sink, then sprang to his feet and strode out of the room. "Feel better!"

* * *

_Two days later..._

"I don't get it."

Steve looked up from the toast he was spreading with peanut butter to see Tony standing in the doorway of the kitchen, two slips of paper in hand. "They're Yankees' tickets."

"I can see that, but why do I have them?"

"To thank you." Steve slid the toast onto a paper towel and screwed the lid back on the peanut butter. "For all you did for me. I know you could buy more expensive ones, but I wanted to show my appreciation."

"How do you even know I _like _baseball?"

Steve shrugged. "I've seen you checking the scores on your phone during mission briefings and took a chance."

Tony looked back down at the tickets, his expression unusually blank.

"They're right behind home plate," Steve offered, now feeling slightly embarassed by his gift. In hindsight, it was silly for him to purchase those tickets; Tony probably had a box suite he bought out instead.

Tony looked up at the supersoldier and smiled lopsidedly. "Thank you, Steve. Really. But they're unnecessary." Tony held out the tickets and, when Steve didn't take them, shook them in Steve's direction. "You didn't need to."

Steve just straightened up and clasped his hands behind his back. "You know it's rude to give back a gift."

Tony actually looked a little flustered. "I'm not—"

"You and Pepper go have fun," Steve said as he took his breakfast down to the last barstool, in order to put as much distance as he could between him and the maskless and gloveless inventor. "I can't help but notice we've been Avenging during your last few date nights."

Tony cocked his head slightly to the right and was quiet for about a second. "That would probably be a good idea," he muttered absently. Then he spun on his heel and walked out of the kitchen without another word.

Having been around Tony for a few months now, Steve didn't pay the semi-dramatic exit another thought and returned to his breakfast.

As he was putting his plate in the sink, Tony walked back into the kitchen and slapped a slip of paper against Steve's chest. "You're coming too. I bought the seat next to us. Had to pay way over its cost, but I'm not going to leave you here like some sort of sick puppy while we're out enjoying ourselves."

"But I might still be contagious," Steve protested, quickly pulling away from Tony, who was _still without any sort of protective gear_.

"J?"

"Given what we know about the serum, I believe the contagious period for your illness has passed, Captain."

Tony beamed at Steve. "There. You have no more excuses. Be ready to go at ten!"

As was the way with Tony Stark, Steve was left staring in shock at Tony's retreating form.

"If I may, Captain," JARVIS spoke up, a few seconds later, "you could take a nap to reduce chances of wearing out during the game. My calculations suggest you will have time to reach REM sleep if you fall asleep within the next five minutes."

Steve was ready to politely decline JARVIS' suggestion but then a wide yawn cracked open his bottom jaw. "You know what, JARVIS, a nap actually sounds great."

"Thank you, Captain. If only you could convince Mr. Stark to do the same."

Steve just grinned as he rinsed off his plate then headed for his room. "JARVIS, I will see what I can do."


	2. Tony: Quarantine

Tony Stark's day was going surprisingly well. He'd managed to steal Pepper away from her regularly scheduled lunch at her desk while she read the notes for the next meeting, and had whisked her away to the fanciest Italian restaurant in Manhattan. The food had been amazing, the company thrilling, and the promise of how Pepper was going to repay him for such a great date hung in the air like a song.

Of course, that was all ruined when he walked out of the restaurant into a cloud of gas.

It took his brain a second to understand what had happened, and by the time he realized he shouldn't have inhaled, he was already on his knees, his lungs doing their best to externalize themselves.

He slapped weakly at the Iron Man bracelets around his wrists while looking through the fog for Pepper, who was lying on the ground beside him, gasping weakly.

He reached out for her but she had fallen out of his reach. Tony tried to crawl closer to her but didn't get more than a foot before his body refused to take more cues from his brain.

There were so many things he wanted to tell her—how deeply he loved her, how she had to hang on, how the suit would be here soon—but the second he opened his mouth, he was lost in a coughing fit that was so intense he could feel the bruising beginning around the reactor.

Then a warm hand was on his, and he saw flashes of red and blue in the distance before he passed out.

* * *

When Tony came to, he found himself in a glass-walled room that smelled strongly of disinfectant. His guess was a hospital—hopefully a real one and not one belonging to whoever had—

_Pepper!_

He slurred out her name as he tried to push himself out of bed, but the IV in the back of his hand kept him from gaining any real ground.

"You're awake."

With panic surging through his system, Tony flopped to his left and saw a blob of yellow sitting beside him. While his hands attempted to slap at his wrists where the Iron Man bracelets should have been, Tony blinked hard and the blob sharpened into a hazmat suit, with a very distinctive blond coif beneath it.

His panic died down almost instantly and he let his hands fall back to the bed.

"How are you feeling?" Steve asked as his plastic-enclosed hand reached out to gently push Tony back onto the bed.

"Pepp'r?"

Steve tilted his head to the right and Tony jerked his gaze over to see his girlfriend lying on a hospital bed in an adjacent glass-walled room, sleeping. Another yellow blob was sitting in her room, holding her hand.

"'s that?"

"Happy. I figured he knew her better than I did." Then Steve twisted back to face Tony. "Rhodes is on his way back from a mission, by the way. I'm just filling in 'til he gets here."

It might have been the drugs coursing through Tony's IV but Steve's words stung more than they should have. After all they'd been through over the past few months and all the progress they'd made, Tony thought he might have earned the right to be more than an obligation for their great leader. Apparently that wasn't the case.

With great effort, Tony schooled his face into a neutral expression. "'m fine. 'u can go now."

"Wait, that wasn't what I meant—"

"'u don' have to 'splain—"

"I just didn't want you to think that Happy chose Pepper and you were stuck with me," Steve interjected. "I wanted you to know Rhodey was on his way. I'm happy to stay for however long you want, but I figured you'd want me gone once he got here."

Tony blinked. That made a surprising amount of sense. A lot more sense than Steve suddenly hating his guts. Damn those drugs.

"'u can stay," he stated as he reached shakily for the plastic cup beside his bed. "'f you want."

Thankfully, Steve was already there, grabbing the cup between two gloved hands and holding it out for Tony to drink from. The water was icy cold, felt wonderful against his scratchy throat, and succeeded in fully waking him up.

"What happened to me?" he rasped, after downing the whole cup.

"Someone gassed both you and Pepper on your way out of Del Posto. So far it hasn't had any effect but knock you out. Dr. Baker doesn't see anything unusual in either of your bloodwork, but they're quarantining and monitoring you until they're sure."

"So we'll be fine?"

"Dr. Baker thinks so."

"What was it?"

"Some sort of plague derivative. As far as they can tell, it didn't take."

Tony had to swallow hard a few times before he could ask, "And they're absolutely sure Pepper is fine?"

"She got a much smaller dose than you. She's been awake twice already, and has reported no symptoms." Steve might have smiled, but it was hard to tell around the thick plastic face mask. "It's you we're all worried about."

"Well you don't have to be." As if on some sort of morbid cue, a cough tore its way out of Tony's lungs and he doubled over, gasping for air. He pushed one hand against the reactor to keep it steady, while the other went to his mouth, trying to physically suppress his cough.

Plastic crinkled then a hand was rubbing circles on his back, and Steve was saying something on repeat. When Tony could breathe again, the plastic cup was being held to his mouth. Not trusting his own shaking hands to hold it steady, he just sipped carefully from the straw that had appeared out of nowhere.

"Thanks," he mumbled when his throat was no longer on fire. He looked up and saw actual fear in Steve's eyes before the soldier quickly looked away.

Tony's stomach sank to the floor. "I've got it, don't I?"

"Not yet," Steve said as he put the water back on the rolling table. He was back to his calm, assertive state, all traces of his emotional lapse gone. "But that cough didn't sound good. We need to call Dr. Baker."

He should have been a lot more surprised when Tony didn't protest.

* * *

"Did you have the cough when you woke up?" Dr. Patricia Baker asked, peering at her patient over the top Tony's file.

"No."

"Were you feeling under the weather at all?"

"No less than usual."

Dr. Baker fixed him with an unamused look but Tony just shrugged. "Perks of being an Avenger and being partially in charge of a company. Not a whole lot of downtime."

"No matter how this turns out, downtime you will have." Dr. Baker then stuck a thermometer under Tony's tongue, effectively cutting off any retort.

"99.5," she reported a moment later before she recorded the number in Tony's chart.

"That's not unusual. I run warm."

Dr. Baker nodded as she noted more of Tony's vitals. "We'll keep a close eye on you all the same."

Tony's throat tickled with discomfort and he had to take another drink of water before he could ask, "Is there a chance I have Steve's cold?" He'd taken care of himself the best he could while looking after Steve a few weeks ago. It seemed unlikely, but was worth asking, especially considering the strength of the bug that had temporarily stymied the serum.

Thankfully, Dr. Baker seemed to share his original opinion. "Highly unlikely given its extremely late onset," she responded. "I would have expected you to show symptoms before today."

Well that was good. If he were waxing lyrical, Tony might even describe it as small ray of darkness in an otherwise gloomy day. But the severity of their current situation quickly cut him back to reality.

"If it is the plague, what are my chances?" he asked softly.

"As long as it hasn't been modified, there are ways of treating it for a full recovery. Unfortunately, we won't know for sure unless your teammates can find the release mechanism." Dr. Baker dropped Tony's chart back in the holder on the foot of his bed and turned to face her patent. "Besides the cough, you've been a-symptomatic, which is a really good sign."

"And _with_ the cough?"

"It could be anything: a reaction to the propellant, or the start of the garden-variety infection." Dr. Baker stepped forward and rested her hand on Tony's ankle. "Try not to worry. Especially if this is just some backyard concoction, there's a very good chance your system will eliminate it before it becomes harmful."

"But when will you know for sure?"

"24-48 hours. But in case someone put some sort of time-release inhibitor on the molecules, you'll need to stay in quarantine for at least a week."

"A _week_?!"

Dr. Baker nodded again then turned to leave. "I need to go check in with the lab. I'll be back as soon as I have the results."

"Thank you. Any chance I can get my phone back while we wait?"

Dr. Baker shook her head. "It's being tested for traces of the gas. But I'll have a lab tablet sent in. Ethernet access only."

Tony could barely resist a groan of frustration but managed to smile his thanks while doing it. It was by design, he knew, so he couldn't look up his symptoms. But still, the ethernet was better than nothing. He'd made due with a lot worse.

He heard a shifting sound and looked to his left to see the built-in blinds between the two quarantine rooms disappear. Pepper, beautiful even in such stark surroundings, was still sleeping, while Happy, still in a banana-yellow hazmat suit, had shifted his chair so he had sightlines to both Tony and Pepper.

"How's she doing?" Tony asked, practically yelling to be heard through the thick glass.

"Fine," Happy shouted back. "Her last blood test was—"

There was a loud screech that left Happy grabbing at the earbud in the hazmat suit, then his curse boomed over the speakers in Tony's room.

"Sorry about that," Dr. Baker said. "But the speaker system between your rooms is now activated."

Happy grumbled out a 'thanks' then continued, "—was negative."

"No cough, no fever?"

"No. And you, boss?"

"Nothing so far," Tony replied. _Technically, _it was a white lie, but his cough hadn't been conclusive. And he hadn't needed to cough since earlier; of course, now that he was thinking about it, his chest burned with the cough he was now actively suppressing. Stupid power of suggestion.

Tony's back began to ache from the prologued lying around, so he shifted his legs toward the side of the bed, in an attempt to take the seat Steve had vacated when Dr. Baker had kicked him out to perform her examination. It took Happy a minute to realize what he was doing, but by the time Tony had pushed himself upright, Happy had stood to his full height and was pointing his gloved finger at Tony.

"I _know _you are not going to get out of bed, boss. Dr. Baker's orders."

"She told me no such thing."

"Then it's a good thing you have me around to keep you on the straight and narrow. No getting out of bed, at least for the first three days."

"How am I supposed to use the bathroom?"

Happy pointed off to Tony's right, where a bedpan was tucked beneath the railing.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"With your lungs, she's not taking any chances."

Tony supposed that was fair but he hated it all the same. "If you walk me to the bathroom, it'll be like I'm still lying in bed."

"Do you really have to go?"

Tony eyed the bedpan. "Not anymore."

* * *

The next few hours were filled with good news. Tony's blood was still clean of plague, which left Dr. Baker cautiously optimistic he hadn't contracted the disease. Pepper's blood tests were also negative, and when she'd woken up, Happy had rolled her over so she was next to the glass wall separating them. Steve, after returning with the unfortunate news that Rhodes was still on assignment and couldn't be reached, had done the same for Tony. There had been a lot of crying and promises for trips to deserted islands with no cell phone signal, but eventually Pepper and Tony calmed down. Their hands were pressed to opposite sides of the glass like part of a bad romance movie, but Tony found he didn't much care.

When Nurse Janine returned a few hours later to take Pepper for another chest CT, Steve held out a deck of cards.

"Wanna play?"

Tony gaped at the old-fashioned game. The last time he'd played cards had been at a poker night he'd held... in early 2008? It had been back when he was still drinking heavily and definitely before Iron Man. That night, he'd even programmed JARVIS to display holographic cards, which left everyone's hands free for other… past times.

"They're playing cards," Steve had the gall to explain.

"I know what they are. I'm just... Can you even hold cards in your gloves?"

Steve smiled. "I'm gonna try. You should probably deal though."

Tony stared at Steve for another moment, then decided the old-fashioned game was far better than sitting in silence, worrying.

"What do you know how to play?" he asked as he took the deck, slid the cards out of the box, and began to shuffle.

"Almost anything."

Tony grinned evilly. "Poker it is. Hap, you in?"

The Forehead of Security shrugged before heading to the airlock in Pepper's room. "Not like I have anything else to do."

* * *

They were six hands in when the cards once again fell from Steve's gloved hands. He scowled, then slid the offending card to the end of the table and tried to force it back into formation.

"This is ridiculous," he grumbled but broke out into a wide smile when he was successful.

"I told you poker was a bad idea," Happy, who having similar troubles with his own cards, chimed in.

"Well, we could play 31," Steve offered. "Less cards to hold. My mom said my grandmother used to play it with her side of the family." When it was his turn, Steve tried to lay down one single card but his whole hand splayed out instead.

Unlike the other times, he didn't hurry to pick the cards up, or even hide them from Tony's sight. "You're not contagious anymore, right?" he asked.

"Not according to Dr. Baker," Tony said absently as he picked up Steve's hand and held it out to the supersoldier.

That was when he saw Steve reaching for the back of his suit.

"NO, STEVE!" Tony shouted, but it was too late. Steve had separated the seal, sending the air from his suit hissing into the room.

"Happy, get him out of here. Steve, don't breathe!" Tony shouted, practically shoving Happy off the chair in Steve's direction.

Happy, bless his soul, reacted quickly. In two seconds, he'd wrapped his arms around Steve and was in the process of hauling him out of the room, when Steve slipped his arms free and pulled the helmet of the suit over his head, so it dangled against his chest.

"Look, if you were contagious, you'd be sick by now," Steve said, extricating himself from the rest of Happy's hold. "Dr. Baker is pretty much convinced you're not, so that's good enough for me."

"You can't take that chance," Tony said in disbelief.

Steve shrugged. "I've contracted and fought off worse." He stepped out of his suit, then sat back down next to Tony. "I'd like a redeal," he said calmly, as if he hadn't just exposed himself to a potentially dangerous unknown substance. "You've both seen my hand."

Tony could only gape at Steve. "You know you've signed your ticket for quarantine for the next few days."

"I do." Steve took the cards from Tony's hands and swept them into a neat pile on the rolling table. "We're going to switch to spades if that's alright."

Tony just blinked dumbly. "What could have possibly possessed you to do such a thing?"

"I was sick a lot, growing up," Steve explained as he shuffled the cards with a perfect bridge. "The masks and aprons made it worse. A little physical contact would have been nice." As he spoke, he reached out with his elbow and bumped Tony's hand.

"You're certifiably insane."

Steve tipped his head in acknowledgement while he dealt the cards. "I've been called worse. Now are you going to keep staring at me, or are you going to play your hand?"

Still slightly stunned, Tony picked up his hand to see a plethora of aces and face cards. He looked over at Steve, who shrugged and grinned, and Tony knew that somehow Steve had purposefully dealt him these cards.

"I think this is a home deal," Happy griped, fanning out his cards as he sat back down.

Steve just shrugged and pretended to examine his own hand.

"Can you at least wear gloves?" Tony asked resignedly as he began counting his many tricks. "Maybe even a mask?"

"I'll see what Dr. Baker can get me."

* * *

Thankfully, Tony's cough passed as quickly as it started, which led Dr. Baker to diagnose it as a mild reaction to the accelerant. A cot was brought in for Steve by two hazmatted men, who placed it on the far side of the room. Tony however woke up to find the cot directly next to his bed and Steve's hand resting just a hair's breadth from his**.**

When Pepper discovered what Steve had done, she yelled at him until the supersoldier looked up at the security camera, silently begging Dr. Baker to turn the audio off. The good doctor just turned it louder.

And so after seven long days, Tony, Steve and Pepper were released with a laundry list of vitals to monitor and symptoms to report back in for. To celebrate another failed brush with death, Tony threw an exclusive party the next night for Avengers, significant others, and life-saving doctors only.

The party was in full swing by eight (which would have been a travesty back in the day, but Tony found he didn't mind so much now). After greeting all the atendees, he bumped into Steve while he was fetching another round for himself and Thor from the bar.

"Thanks," Tony said without preamble as he lifted his hand to signal his usual order.

"Don't mention it," replied Steve with a grin.

"You're still insane."

"I knew you weren't infected. All your blood work had come back negative."

Tony could feel his frustration building within him and fought desperately to keep it out of his voice. Steve wasn't considering the very real possibility that he'd been wrong, and that there was a good chance he would have ended up on the bed next to him, possibly having contracted a very serious derivation of the plague. That wasn't a risk Steve should have taken so nonchalently. And yes, a small part of Tony realized that this was incredibly hypocritical, but he knew he himself was far too late to change. There was still hope for Steve, paragon of all that was good in the States, or whatever the new catchphrase the media had come up was. "But you weren't _sure_."

Steve looked over at him and shrugged. "I was sure that wasn't something you should go through alone."

Once again, Tony was torn between hugging Steve and punching him in the face. He settled for knocking his elbow into Steve's, sending a tiny bit of froth sloshing over the mouth of Steve's beer.

"I owe you," Tony then said.

Steve snorted dismissively then grabbed five more beers by their necks. "After all you did for me when I was sick, it's the least I could do."

It absolutely was not, but Tony chose to let the conversation go for the night. They were supposed to be celebrating after all. So he grabbed his highball, raised it to Steve, then downed about half of it.

"Have a good night, Rogers. Try to enjoy yourself."

Steve's grin was blinding. "I'll do my best."

* * *

**Up next: Steve and Tony are sent on a goodwill mission to Alaska. What could possibly go wrong?**

**Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you thought!**


	3. Steve: Cold (Part One)

**This chapter was twice the length of the others, so I decided to cut it in half. Part two will be posted by next Tuesday at the latest.**

**Thanks for all your support thus far! It means the world to me.**

* * *

"I'm sorry, you're sending us _where_?"

Fury looked up from the mission briefing and frowned at Steve's interruption. "Fairbanks, Alaska."

That's what Steve had thought Fury'd said; he'd just hoped he'd heard wrong. It had to be below freezing there this time of year, if not sub-zero. He didn't want to pull his phone out to know for sure.

"You're seriously sending the man who was basically frozen for seventy years to one of the coldest and darkest places on the planet this time of year?" Tony asked without looking up from whatever he was doing on his phone.

Fury turned to face Steve, and for the briefest of seconds, his expression might have flashed to apologetic. By the time Steve had processed that as a possibility though, Fury had returned to his regularly scheduled detachment. "I know what an inconvenience this is for you, Captain," he said, "but Director Pierce called in a favor with me, so I'm calling in a favor with you."

A phantom chill ran down Steve's spine and he huddled into the warmth of the parka he was wearing, even though it'd merited him more than a few looks as he entered the SHIELD base. "And Tony can't go alone because?"

"Because Pierce promised the two of you."

There was an expectant pause, at which Steve realized he was supposed to agree, but he couldn't make his mouth form the words.

Fury obviously misread this as a negotiating tactic, for he sighed loudly then said, "And I'll owe the two of you one."

Tony, who up to this point had been slouched in his seat, barely paying attention, shot upright. "JARVIS, you got that recorded?"

"I do indeed, sir."

Tony grinned widely. "Then I'm in. When do we leave?"

Pointedly ignoring Tony's enthusiasm, Fury turned again toward Steve. "What about you, Captain?"

"Underprivileged school, huh?" Steve asked while trying to hide the way his teeth clacked together. When Fury nodded, Steve sighed. "Then I'm in too."

* * *

He left the base in almost a ridiculous number of layers. He noticed Tony eyeing them as he boarded the quinjet but before the inventor could comment, Steve snapped that he'd take them off before they got to the auditorium.

Tony just held up his hands in mock surrender. "I didn't say anything. Frankly, I'm surprised you're here at all. Wait, no, I'm not. Underprivileged school? Chance to straighten out some of our impressionable youth? It's right up your alley."

"Is riding in silence an option?" Steve grumbled as he dropped into the seat across the aisle from Tony, who just grinned.

"Nope! But I did bring a selection of movies to pass the time." Tony made a swiping motion with his hand and a holographic list of movie posters appeared in mid-air. He then repeated the motion, which sent the posters flying around an invisible carousel. "You pick."

Sensing he didn't have a choice, Steve copied Tony's gesture and paged through the movies at a slower rate. He didn't know what most of them were about but immediately noticed the recurring warm desert theme. It was subtle, yet extremely Tony, and Steve couldn't have been more grateful for his friend's attempt to make this trip easier for him.

One movie though stood out from the rest. "_It's a Wonderful Life_?"

"Emotional warmth," Tony explained as he tapped over his heart. "If you're up for that sort of thing."

"Emotional warmth actually sounds nice right now."

Tony made an elaborate flourish at the ceiling then kicked his seat back. "J, queue up the Christmas movie."

* * *

After _It's a Wonderful Life_, Tony picked _Tropic Thunder, _then Steve chose _McLintock! _Even though Steve drifted off not far into the western, Tony kept it on for background noise while he pulled out his phone and dove into SI business. He only looked up when he was paged by ground control to begin landing procedures.

Once the quinjet was safely on the ground, Tony looked over his shoulder to see Steve blinking sleepily at him. "Welcome to Alaska," he crooned as he stretched his arms over his head then tapped his bracelets. The red-and-gold suitcase tucked under the first row of seats immediately shot into the air and expanded until an entire Iron Man suit had assembled in the quinjet. Tony stepped into the opening then the armor quickly knitted itself closed around him.

Steve remained in his seat, slightly more awake but scowling so hard lines were etched into his forehead.

Tony popped his faceplate open and said, "You can walk in like that. No shame."

"We both know I can't," Steve snapped. He exhaled quickly as if to prepare himself, then began shucking his layers. Parka after parka fell to the ground, followed by at least two scarves, a pair of gloves, a beanie, and a thick fleece blanket. Tony was surprised Steve hadn't given into heat stroke on the way over here, given that the quinjet's heater had been running the entire time.

Steve's color reduced with each layer he shed until he was down to one single jacket and was exactly one shade darker than the snow-covered landscape around them. "Ya know, we can go buy you some thermals to wear under your suit," Tony suggested, but Steve shook his head.

"I'm already wearing them." Then his expression softened. "Thanks for your concern, but I really am fine. We're going like twenty feet in the snow, and the heat will be on in the auditorium."

It was a brush-off but Tony decided to give Steve the benefit of the doubt. For now.

He turned away as Steve began putting on the final pieces of his uniform but flipped back when something in Steve's movements caught his eye; the supersoldier had hesitated slightly before pulling on his cowl. The motion was so small Tony probably wouldn't have noticed it if he hadn't already watching Steve like a hawk—despite what the media thought, he happened to be very in tune with what could possibly trigger his friends. In the many missions or events the two of them had been on in the past six months, not once had Steve done that little tick.

Tony naturally had to know why. "What was that?" he demanded.

Steve looked up at him in confusion. "What?"

"The thing you did with your cowl. What's wrong?"

"What thing I did?"

To short-circuit the recursive questioning, Tony popped open his face mask then repeated the expression he'd just seen on Steve's face while he pulled on an imaginary cowl of his own. Steve actually looked surprised, which led Tony to suspect he hadn't known he was doing it.

"Out with it."

Steve sighed, almost in surrender, then admitted, "It doesn't fit quite right."

"And?"

"I'm fine, Tony."

"You're clearly not. And if I have to do this twenty questions thing again, I will call Pepper right now and sic her on you. You're not hesitating because it doesn't fit right. What's the real problem?"

Steve scowled and was quiet for a moment while he visibly debated answering. "It gives me headaches if I wear it too long," he finally said. "But the speaking engagement is short today, so it won't be a big deal." He stood up and motioned toward the door. "Can we go now?"

"How bad?"

Steve frowned and it was only when a hologram of a cell phone keypad hovered in front of his face that he said, "Depends on the day. Sometimes it's just a headache, other times it can become a migraine. But today it's not going to be—"

"Have you talked to SHIELD about it?"

"We're really doing this?" When Tony nodded, Steve slowly let out his breath through his teeth. "Yeah, I did. They loosened it a little but it's the best they can do with the way it's stitched. Something about the reinforced plating that only stretches so much." Tony opened his mouth to argue, but this time, Steve raised his hand flat and stopped him. "Look, Tony, I really do appreciate your concern but it's fine. Today's a short day, we're not going to be in there for that long, and they're looking at redesigning my uniform next quarter. It's okay."

"Seriously, Steve?" Tony wasn't angry... okay, maybe that wasn't _entirely_ true. He was a little angry that Steve was so desperate to keep his problems away from everyone that he hadn't told them his suit caused him migraines after their worst battles. The anger quickly faded though, leaving disappointment in its wake. Tony hated nothing more than people befriending him just for his genius, but having friends who were hurting who didn't see the need to ask him, the genius inventor, to look at the thing that was hurting them just jumped up to a close second. "You've seen my lab, right? Not once did you think that maybe I could do something about your cowl?"

"I did. But you're always so busy with running intel for SHIELD or SI. I didn't think—"

"Ah, the crux of the problem." Steve shot him a dark look but Tony hurried along. "I can carve out some time to look at it for you when we get back. You shouldn't have to suffer until the bureaucrats get their crap sorted out."

Steve was visibly uneasy, as if waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop, and it took a few minutes for him to realize Tony was serious. "I'd really appreciate that," he said slowly. "Thanks, Tony."

"You're welcome." Tony clapped Steve on the shoulder, then in the same motion, tugged a thick beanie back over Steve's head. "Let's just get this over with and get back to warmth, yeah?"

Steve grinned and nodded. "Yeah."

* * *

The presentation went off without a hitch and Steve and Tony were sent off with handfuls of warm cookies and hot chocolate. It was only once they'd returned to the quinjet and Steve had climbed back under all his layers that JARVIS informed Tony a storm was en route. A beat later, he received a similar page from the control tower. After a minute's deliberation, it was decided that if the quinjet left now, it'd miss a majority of the storm headed their way; a wait any longer though would have them grounded until said storm passed.

"Looks like we're just in time," Tony said as he began flipping switches and getting the quinjet ready for takeoff.

The wind was now whipping around the quinjet, ratting the seams, and back in the cabin, Steve clutched the armrests of his seat, desperate to get out off the ground. He heard Tony talking to ground control to finalize the takeoff before the engines roared to life and they finally lifted off.

Steve's breath lodged in his throat as they sailed into the air, and it wasn't until they'd leveled out that his lungs began to function normally again.

"See, Cap?" Tony said as he walked back into the cabin and dropped into his seat from earlier. "Nothing to it."

"I'll believe that when I can see the sun again."

"Cheer up, Cap." Tony swiped his hand through the air and brought back the holographic assortment of movies. "I guarantee each of these classics has at least one sunny scene in it."

Just as Steve was reaching out to make his selection, the plane lurched to the right; suddenly Steve was no longer on the quinjet. He was back in 1945, seated at the wheel of the bomber that was ready to unleash its payload on New York. The icy wind whistled through his hair, his split cheek burned and his compass was wedged into the control panel in front of him.

_"I'm going to need a rain check on that dance."_

Something hard connected with Steve's cheek and he looked up in confusion to see a dark-haired man… Tony… standing over him, looking… worried?

"Thank God," Tony said with visible relief. He held out a bottle of something that was wafting steam. Steve didn't care what exactly it was and downed the hot liquid in three gulps.

"Sorry I slapped you," Tony continued, "but you were freaking out, and I really can't have Captain America go section eight while we're forty thousand feet in the air. The exterior is strong but not that strong."

"You have a suit," Steve mumbled through chattering teeth. He clutched the thermos in his hands and desperately tried to soak up its warmth.

"But you don't. So you're welcome."

Steve waited for his teeth to stop clacking together before asking, "What happened?"

"Turbulence. It's expected for the next few hours, by the way. Are you gonna—"

"I'll be fine," Steve replied shortly. And he would. Now that he knew the turbulence was coming, he could prepare for it.

Tony reached out and snagged the thermos, much to Steve's displeasure, but thirty seconds later, it was full (and warm) again. Steve sipped at this one much more slowly, savoring every sip of the strong coffee.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Steve shook his head.

Tony, for once in his life, didn't press. "Okay then. Since you've forfeited your choice of film, I will pick in your place. J, queue up _The Mummy_."

The movie was entertaining enough to distract Steve from the situation at hand, but not so much that he had to pay total attention to the plot. His mind was anxiously absorbing the various changes to his surroundings such as the dips in altitude and fluctuations in wind speed. His stomach lurched with every bump and his jaw clenched so tightly he might have cracked a few teeth.

But he was managing.

Until about ninety minutes later when the plane lurched again, this time hard enough to send Steve crashing into the window. Memories threatened to overwhelm him, but with an enormous amount of mental effort, Steve managed to keep himself from succumbing. As he blinked the black from the corners of his eyes, he heard Tony shout, "Cap, I need you!"

Steve tore out his seat belt and staggered toward the cockpit. Suddenly, there was a sharp crack and the plane went into a deep dive. As alarms began to blare from the cockpit, Steve's feet swung out from under him and he grabbed the wall of the plane, denting it slightly in his struggle to stay upright.

"What's going on?" he shouted as he hauled himself into the cockpit and buckled himself into the copilot's seat. As he looked out the window though, he realized he needn't have asked. The smoke pluming from the quinjet's right engine told the entire story.

"I don't know," Tony grunted, his gaze dancing over the instrument panel while he fought to keep the quinjet steady. "But I could use a little help." Steve immediately reached over and tugged on the yoke as hard as he could without breaking it. Even with his considerable strength, it took both him and Tony to bring the nose of the plane up even a little bit.

Ground control was blaring over the speakers, demanding a status, but it was background noise to Steve who was intently focused on not snapping off the yoke.

"Right engine down. So is the instrument panel. Must be a short." Tony was talking so quickly his words were almost incomprehensible. "Altitude, still good—"

"Can we fly with one remaining engine?" Steve interrupted.

Tony shook his head. "We're going to have to evacuate."

"_What?_" Steve was so surprised by Tony's words that he almost let go of the yoke.

"Steve!" Tony shouted and the supersoldier hurriedly reinstated his grip. As panic built inside him, he glanced out the front windshield and saw the icy whiteness rushing around them.

"Listen to me!" Tony shouted, throwing his body into Steve's without actually taking his hands off the controls. "I won't let anything happen to you. They have our coordinates, there's a tracker in the suit, and Rhodey's already on his way. But we gotta get out of here. I can't protect both of us if we crash."

Steve was staring at a different landscape, wind whistling through his hair from the rather large hole in the floor.

_"There's not enough time. This thing's moving too fast."_

"You gotta trust me, Steve. I won't let anything happen to you."

_"I gotta put her in the water."_

"If we hurry, there's nothing around. JARVIS already scanned it. But we have to go _now_."

_"Right now, I'm in the middle of nowhere."_

Steve swallowed hard, pushed back on the panic threatening to overwhelm him, and nodded.

"Good. Hold us steady and I'll fetch the suit." There was a quick pause then Tony asked, "You sure you got it?"

Steve nodded, then shifted more to the left and grabbed both sides of the yoke, placing his hands just outside of Tony's. "Hurry," he grunted as the plane banked sharply to the right.

Tony let go and it took everything Steve had to keep the quinjet from a complete dive. He heard the whine of Tony's armor in the background as he felt the wind beat on his bloody face, saw the Stark logo on the top of the instrument panel, and looked right the compass with Peggy's picture.

_"This is my choice."_

Then a massive pile of blankets and miscellany were dumped on Steve's head, jarring him back to reality.

"Hold onto those," Iron Man's metallic voice said as it took over keeping the quinjet aloft. Steve quickly wrapped himself in the emergency blankets Tony had acquired then stuffed the hot packs and food items into any pocket or pouch he could find.

The plane lurched again and Tony cursed as he fought to keep it in the air. "Ready?"

Steve wanted to do anything but agree, but he knew he was without any other choice; the cold he could survive, a plane crash not so much. With shaking hands, Steve unbuckled his seat belt and braced himself against the console with his knees. "Ready."

"I got you, Steve. I promise," Tony said before he released the yoke and fired his repulsors at the windshield. Glass fragments rained down around them as the quinjet began to plunge toward earth. Then metal arms wrapped around Steve's waist, Iron Man's thrusters screamed to life, and they sailed out the windshield into the cold, unyielding storm.

* * *

_To Be Continued..._


	4. Steve: Cold (Part Two)

The second Steve and Tony were outside the plane, Iron Man's HUD began lighting up with warnings about the weather, specifically the temperature and the incoming storm. Tony knew the suit could sustain much cooler weather but the bundle in his arms could not, so he cranked up the heat in the armor, knowing it would bleed into the metal holding onto Steve.

"Sir," JARVIS said through the internal speakers, "maintaining this temperature will put significant strain on the arc reactor."

"I know, J." Tony could see the charge dropping as they spoke. But he didn't have a choice. Without those actions, Steve would freeze to death before they could be rescued.

"It is ill-advised to keep this up for more than fifty-two minutes."

"Duly noted." When all this was said and done, Tony really needed to revisit making the heating system more sustainable, especially if Fury had plans to keep sending the Avengers to this part of the world. "Mute and direct saved power to the thrusters."

As instructed, JARVIS fell silent and increased their speed by 2.5%.

Before they'd jumped out of the plane, Tony had had JARVIS scan for the nearest town. Unfortunately, Mayfield was a fair distance away, even while flying; worse, it was their only option unless someone pulled off a rather spectacular rescue. The strength of the emergency beacon wasn't great in the howling wind but Tony could see on the HUD that JARVIS had managed to reach both the Avengers and SHIELD by bouncing the signal off the quinjet before it had crashed, as predicted, in an empty field. The AI had yet to receive any response but Tony was hopeful at least _someone_ was on the way.

He was pulled from his thoughts by a thunk against the front of his armor. "Whazza plan?" Steve shouted through chattering teeth.

"Get to the nearest town."

Steve's reply was lost in the roar of the wind. He must have realized it too, for he tilted his head out of the burrow he'd made between his arm and Tony's suit and yelled, "Far?"

While Tony consulted the HUD again, JARVIS spoke up. "Sir, my calculations reveal you will not be able to reach Mayfield by the time Captain Rogers' temperature becomes unsustainable for life."

"I don't have another option!" Tony all but shouted. If he survived this, he was going to kill Fury. Or not. That might be too quick an end to the punishment he, but more importantly Steve, was enduring. "We should fly as far as we can. Put us in reach of the town."

"Sir, the weather is getting worse," JARVIS said. "Continued flight is inadvisable."

And the hits just kept coming.

"I don't have a choice, JARVIS," Tony snapped. "We have to get to that town." His mind raced to calculate what he could turn down to power the thrusters and get them to town faster. Unfortunately, every option he came up with ended up with Steve dead, since the most power-consuming element of the suit was currently the heater.

"You will both fair better from mild hypothermia than a lightning strike."

Tony paused. "That bad, huh?"

"Unfortunately."

"I don't suppose you'll tell Steve?"

JARVIS was pointedly silent.

Groaning, Tony flipped open the outside channel and reported the news. Steve, predictably, wasn't thrilled but he seemed to understand that this was their only option. He held out a shaky-thumbs up then tucked his head back under his arm while Tony prepped for landing.

Once they were safely on the ground, Steve climbed out of Tony's grip and winced once as his boots slid into shin-height snow. "Direction?" he asked, teeth chattering even under the massive amounts of blankets he was wrapped in.

"Northwest, 75 miles. We'll head that way, stop only—What are you doing?"

Steve looked up from where he was snapping a branch off a tree. "Building... sh-shelter."

"That's insane! We should head toward the next town and find some sort of cave to hide in on the way." It would be a thousand times better than whatever Steve was going to cobble together from snow-covered branches.

"Too f-f-far," Steve stuttered as he began pushing loose snow into a pile with his branch. "Gotta build one... n-n-now."

Tony stepped in front of Steve, keeping him from making another sweep. "We have to go _now_. We're running out of time."

"Don' you think… I k-k-know that?" Steve snapped, his eyes flashing with anger, and maybe a bit of frustration. "I've been t-t-trained for this. Building shelter and g-g-getting a fire started is how we s-s-survive this s-s-snowstorm." His stuttering was getting worse with each passing second, only reinforcing Tony's thought that they get back in the air and fly for as long as they could.

"That is exactly the opposite of what we need to be doing."

Steve stopped working and turned so he was looking Tony straight in his eyes. His gaze was strong and steady, despite the way the rest of him was shaking. "'rust me?"

Tony did, but it was hard to get on board with Steve's plan when staying in the snow went against every single instinct he had. But Steve was certain this was the right path, and if he, the man who had been basically frozen for seventy years, was willing to stay on the ground, in the snow, instead of taking their chances in the air, it must have really been their only option.

Steve must have taken Tony's silence as an agreement since he held out his branch. "Then s-s-start d-d-digging."

* * *

In an attempt to conserve power to the suit, Tony turned off all non-essential functions like the clock and the power joints. However, the time spent keeping Steve warm had significantly drained the suit's reactor. There was barely 50% charge left, and even with the insulating material in the suit, Tony was displeased to realize he still had to run said heater on its lowest setting to keep his limbs moving. As with everything else they'd faced today, he had no choice but to watch the arc's charge tick down while he and Steve worked.

The lack of a clock meant he had no idea how long they dug in the snow before they had created the saddest igloo Tony had ever seen. It was woefully uneven and leaned heavily to the right, but the way Steve's expression brightened as they poked a small hole in the top and covered it with a piece of bark to keep the snow out was almost enough to validate that this had been the correct choice.

Tony had woven in some branches into the supporting structure, which had given them a precious few more inches of height, and meant the two could sit almost completely upright.

"Where are you going?" he asked Steve, who had turned his back to the shelter and was heading back toward the trees.

"Fire...w-w-wood."

"Let the man in the suit get it," Tony said. Even with his rapidly draining reactor, he was still far more mobile than Steve and his spangly outfit. "You get into the igloo."

Thankfully, Steve didn't resist. By the time Tony returned with a large armful of frozen kindling, Steve had spread two of his blankets across the snowy floor and was huddled into a physics-defying-ly small ball.

"Make some room for the fire," Tony said, dropping the kindling then heading back out in the snow to search for some rocks. If possible, they'd both serve as a fire ring and reflect the heat. Unfortunately, the snow was too hard to break with the stick, so he had to use one of his gauntlets to melt enough snow from the base of a tree to get down to the dirt. That maneuver cost him 5% of the arc's remaining charge but had gained him a large armful of rocks, which he was able to break free by hand.

He quickly walked back to the igloo and dropped the rocks just inside the entryway. While Tony maneuvered the suit through the small opening, Steve arranged the rocks in the space he'd cleared in the middle of the igloo, then piled the frozen kindling inside the ring. Once Tony had sat on the other blanket Steve had parted with, he ran the gauntlet on low to dry out the kindling. A fire crackled to life not long after.

As the first wave of heat washed over them, the grin on Steve's face almost rivaled the glow from the flames. He immediately stuck his gloves over the fire and slouched back in relief. "How much power... d-d-do you have left?" he asked after a minute.

"39%."

"Still sending up our c-coordinates?"

"Every ten seconds."

"Make't fifteen," Steve said, leaning his head over his half of the fire to warm his face.

Fifteen seconds seemed far too long for Tony's taste, but he recognized the logic in Steve's words and settled on pushing the signal every twelve seconds instead.

They sat in silence for a long while, warming themselves up. Then Steve sat back and began upturning the blankets and jackets wrapped around him and opening the snaps on his belt.

"We have…" he paused to inventory their supplies. "First aid kit... bandages, four... Hot Hand packs, eight protein bars, two... bags of jerky—"

"—and a partridge in a pear tree."

The look Steve shot him was downright deadly.

"—and Bruce's sludge." Designed for recovering from one of his transformations, the sludge was high in protein but not particularly tasty. "Water's'not an issue," Steve continued as he waved to their surroundings. "Melt it firs'. Avoid dehydration."

"Melting and drinking lots of water. Got it. Now about you," Tony said. "How are you doing?"

Steve glared at him again.

"Hey, if you can ask about the power in my suit, I get to ask about you."

"Be better... once we get outta 'ere," was all Steve said. It was a deflection but it was as good as Tony could have hoped for in the circumstances.

Little did he know, things were going to take a turn for the worse.

* * *

Sometime later, maybe about a half an hour, Tony couldn't help noticing that Steve was still shivering. The fire they built was by no means roaring, since they didn't want to melt the igloo, but it was putting out a decent amount of warmth. He had even been able to turn off the heater in his suit, which meant Steve should have warmed up too.

"You're still shivering," he stated, opting for the direct approach.

"What... of it?"

"You should have stopped by now." Tony popped open his gauntlet then reached over the fire and felt Steve's forehead. The supersoldier tried to pull back, but his reaction time was slow, and Tony was able to fully lay his hand on Steve's head long enough to feel his cool, clammy skin. "You're freezing."

He grabbed Steve's shoulder and pushed him as close to the fire ring as he dared. "What's wrong?"

"Suit's still w-wet," Steve said softly.

"Wet?" Tony blinked. "WET?"

Steve nodded, then bit down hard on his bottom lip as a particularly harsh shiver racked his body.

"You mean your suit isn't waterproof?!"

"Doesn't... seem to be."

"Jesus Christ, Steve. Does your suit do _anything _useful?"

"Looks... d-damn fine."

Thinking he was serious, Tony was about to ream out Steve, but then he saw the corners of supersoldier's mouth lift. As well-intentioned as the smile was, however, it did little to diminish the gravity of this situation. They had enough supplies to sustain them for the near future but they both had a very real chance of dying if the storm didn't let up or they weren't rescued.

As much as Tony wanted to fix Steve's useless suit right now, he couldn't allow himself the cycles. There was nothing he could do in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness, except deal with the symptoms.

Tony crawled over to where Steve was sitting and stuck his arm under the mound of blankets so it rested on Steve's damp suit. He then pulled the supersoldier in close and JARVIS, without being asked, immediately turned on the heater, focusing the energy on the side of Tony resting against Steve.

"Can't," Steve stuttered as he tried to pull away, but Tony just gripped Steve's far shoulder and held him firmly in place.

"The arc—" he tried again.

"—will be fine. But one half-frozen supersoldier might not be unless he warms up."

"Tony," Steve ground out in what was obviously an attempt to be commanding. This words lost some of their severity, however, when his teeth began chattering anew.

"Just shut up and accept my help, Steve," Tony snapped as he shifted so more of Steve's suit was in contact with the metal armor.

For a moment, Steve was silent, but then he nodded. "If the arc g-g-gets to 20... you stop," he said. Then, with a remarkable show of coordination, he slipped out of Tony's grip. "Or no deal."

"I could just knock you out instead and run the heater at full power, dooming us both," Tony countered. "The choice is yours."

Steve looked over his shoulder and scowled but Tony held firm. A moment later, Steve slipped back under Tony's arm. "Beneath you," he grumbled, causing Tony to huff out a laugh.

"You can sue me later."

Steve rolled his eyes, then shifted a little closer to the warm armor.

"Hey, Tony?" he asked a beat later.

"Yeah, Steve?"

"When we get back... could you take a look at my suit? It really sucks."

Caught off-guard by Steve's directness, Tony actually laughed. "Sure, Steve," he said as he pulled his friend closer. "No problem."

* * *

Despite all of SHIELD's resources, the Avengers couldn't find someone in the proper channels to take them to Tony's emergency beacon. When Clint and Natasha were about to hijack a plane and go themselves, Fury informed them he'd called in a favor with a guy in Bottineau who had the skill and right level of insanity to go out in the storm. Steve and Tony were rescued around six hours after the quinjet had first crashed and were immediately taken to the closest hospital. According to the pilot's report, he'd arrived just in the nick of time: the suit was down to 21% and Steve's lips were taking on a decidedly blue color.

Much to Tony's chagrin, the doctors confirmed that Steve's quick actions had in fact saved their lives. Tony replied by saying that the team really needed better outdoors training, just in case weird stuff like this ever happened again. He'd only half-meant it but he could see by Steve's expression that the supersoldier was seriously considering it.

They were instructed to stay the night for observation, which had the dual effect of allowing them to wait out the storm. Hooked up to a warm saline IV, Tony called Pepper to tell her he was well and truly fine, then he and Steve video-chatted Clint and Natasha, who had made it to the North Dakota border but had been unable to cross.

"It might be easier to lock you both in the Tower," Natasha said, after expressing her relief that the two were truly okay.

"Does that make Tony or Steve Rapunzel?" Clint quipped with a wicked grin. That expression flashed through Natasha's eyes as well, and a moment later, Clint yelped as Natasha's hand connected with the crown of his head. She muttered something in Russian that neither Steve nor Tony understood while Clint rubbed the top of his head with a scowl.

"When will you be back?" Natasha asked, turning back to face Steve and Tony.

"Tomorrow," Tony replied. SHIELD was supposedly sending a plane from Chicago for them, but Tony had already looked into buying out a local plane and a pilot if bureaucracy got the better of Fury's plan.

Natasha smiled, then looked over her shoulder and nodded at someone unseen. "We have to go," she said to the webcam. "Be safe. We'll see you Sunday."

"Al-ways," Tony said, which was seconded by Steve.

As he hung up the phone, Tony looked over at his temporary roommate, who had regained some of his color, but was still shivering sporadically. While rolling his eyes, Tony punched the call button on his bed, and dark-haired nurse named Belinda stepped in not too long after.

"We're fine," Tony was quick to say, "but he's freezing." To prove his point, he motioned at Steve, who was visibly trying to keep from shaking. "Can he get some more blankets? Like a mountain of them? Cost is no object."

As Steve protested weakly, Belinda nodded. "Right away, Mr. Stark."

"Tony—"

"Perks of being rich," Tony said, waving his hand dismissively. "Now about your suit. Something warmer for sure, but breathable for the summer missions. Maybe some well-placed, reinforced mesh? I'm not used to non-metal materials so that might be way off base."

He heard Steve chuckle and looked over to see the supersoldier smiling. "I'm sure you'll figure it out. I t-t-trust you."

After all he and Steve had been through the last year, the words shouldn't have caught Tony as off-guard as they did. However, he was still stunned by the casual but honest way Steve had said them, and it took him a beat before he could make his mouth work again.

By that time, Belinda had returned with a truly impressive number of blankets, which she was currently piling on Steve. Given that Steve was going to be distracted for the near future, Tony just pulled out his phone and started sketching out the basics of Steve's new suit.

* * *

**And that's how Tony Stark came to design suits for the Avengers (per his comment in_ Age of Ultron_ that he designs and pays for everything.)**

**Up next: After his run-in with the Mandarin, Tony decides to get the arc reactor removed. Happy calls in Steve for additional protection while his boss is recovering.**

**Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you thought!**


	5. Tony: Elective Surgery

"He's doing what?!" Steve shouted.

On the other side of the video call, Happy Hogan calmly pulled the phone away from his face and repeated, "Getting the arc reactor removed."

"I thought the shrapnel was too close to his heart to retrieve."

"Technology has changed a lot in the last five years. He found someone in South Korea who believes she can do it." Happy then frowned, causing Steve's insides to run cold.

"What's wrong?"

"Dr. Cho thinks the surgery is going to take quite a toll on Tony's body. His heart will be used to the extra juice, so it might have problems adjusting. Plus, he needs to regrow ribs, connective tissue, muscles, and skin. He's going to be down for a while."

Steve's stomach knotted with concern but he forced himself to speak calmly. "What do you need me to do?"

"Tony doesn't do sick well," Happy replied. "I might need some reinforcements to keep him occupied while he recovers."

"Sure thing," Steve said, waiting for the other shoe to drop. That ask was far too simple to be what was concerning Happy.

Sure enough, the Head of Security continued, "Plus, I'm worried someone is going to try to take advantage of Tony in this state. Fury's sending some guards, but I trust them about as far as I can throw them. It'd be nice to have some extra muscle around."

That made more sense. If Tony was going to be as sick as Dr. Cho expected, he would be vulnerable to the worst scenarios Steve was now imagining. "I'm there," he said without hesitation. "When's the surgery?"

"The 18th. But they're flying to Seoul on the 16th for prep."

That was only a few days from now. Steve tried to recall if he had any work for SHIELD on his calendar—not that that would deter him, just so he knew to reschedule it—and came up empty. Him going was logistics at this point; he had more than enough sick days to cover the surgery and the post-op care, no matter how long they took.

"I'll send you the arrangements," Happy said, pulling Steve back to the present, "plus the floor plans, security layouts, and everything else we have on the hospital. We're taking his private plane from the airstrip, 8 AM on the 16th."

"I'll be there."

And if Steve wasn't mistaken, Happy looked incredibly relieved.

* * *

"It's good to see you, Steve," Pepper said as Steve climbed aboard the plane. She must have been told Steve had arrived since she met him just inside the door, arms held wide. Steve hugged her back then turned to Tony, who was slouched on a long, very expensive looking couch, just behind what looked like a stripper pole.

"So you're really doing it?" he asked, taking a seat on the opposite couch.

"Seems so."

Tony looked somewhat uncertain, for reasons Steve only understood after reading the massive amount of paperwork Happy had sent over. What Dr. Helen Cho was attempting to do was nothing short of extraordinary. After using electromagnets to help locate and remove the shrapnel, she would be removing the arc reactor and using what she called The Cradle to help rebuild the missing bones, muscle, and skin. For three days, Tony was going to need to stay in what was essentially quarantine, until the hole in his chest was closed. It wasn't necessarily a positive note, but Tony would be medically sedated throughout the entire procedure to speed the healing process, so he wouldn't be aware of the fact that no one could be in the same room as him.

It was a very serious procedure with very serious risks, but Happy had assured Steve that Tony and Pepper had weighed and considered a multitude of options before settling on Dr. Cho. Steve was nothing but supportive, especially since this implied Tony would regain some lung function back and would make him less susceptible to common illnesses.

"Just let me know if there's anything I can do," was all Steve said as he settled further into the couch.

Pepper laughed as she sat down next to Tony. "Believe me, Steve. He will. Tony is one of the worst patients I have ever seen."

"That's _categorically_ untrue," Tony interjected, whirling around to face his girlfriend. "You're literally sitting across from Mr. I'm-not-hurt-it's-just-a-bullet-wound Rogers."

Pepper looked between both of them, paused to consider, then nodded. "I stand by my case."

Tony pulled a face, looking simultaneously hurt and disappointed. Steve had known Tony long enough though to know that both emotions were in too high saturations to be genuine.

In lieu of a response, Pepper just leaned in for a quick kiss. "It's what makes you, you." When she pulled away, Tony was still scowling, though he was struggling to keep it from morphing into a smile.

He was saved by JARVIS, who announced that Colonel Rhodes was arriving. Not two seconds later, there was the familiar clank of the armor landing before War Machine appeared in the doorway. The suit walked to the corner then peeled open to allow Rhodey to step out. His face was wrought with concern, but before he could speak, Tony held up his hand.

"Don't. You know I'm not good at the emotional stuff."

Rhodey nodded then changed tactics. "I'm happy for you, man," he said as he sat down beside Tony.

A flight attendant scurried over and asked for their drink orders. Tony had just opened his mouth when Pepper and Rhodey, just a beat shy of unison, said, "No sake!"

Tony glared at the two of them but neither backed down. "Water is fine," he then grumbled. "Sparkling. Lemon _and _a lime."

A similar conversation buzzed in the back of Steve's head, so real, he almost looked around for Dr. Erskine. Instead, he smiled, thanked the doctor again for the chance he had been given, and prayed that Tony's surgery would have the same outcome.

* * *

When Helen removed the final bit of shrapnel, Steve took what felt like the first breath since arriving in Seoul. Beside him, Pepper and Rhodey hugged with tears welling in both their eyes. Happy stood stoically, watching as Helen swapped instruments and began to suture the wounds. Still, Steve could see relief in the set of his posture.

Tony was moved to a private recovery ward, where the four of them were allowed to wait with him until he woke up since the arc reactor was still in its place.

He was disoriented but burst into a happy, lopsided smile when Pepper told him the news. He quickly fell back asleep, and this cycle was repeated a few more times over the next few hours until the last of the anesthesia wore off.

Tony was decently conscious for the rest of the night, though he spent an inordinate amount of time staring at the vial that contained the shrapnel. Occasionally, he'd shake it and watch the small bits shift around. When Pepper asked him what he was thinking about, he spat out a quick, "Nothing," then dropped the vial onto the plastic rolling table.

She smiled wanly and kept rubbing her hand up and down his arm. For his own health and safety, it was the last human contact Tony was going to get until the hole in his chest no longer existed.

"Do you need anything for the next few days?" Happy asked as he pulled up his tablet. "I already got you—"

"Hap, we've been over this at least three times," Tony interrupted with only a slight slur.

It was at least six by Steve's count but he wasn't about to correct the drugged-up inventor.

"I have everything I could need for a month's stay. It's gonna be fine," he said, smiling tiredly up at Pepper.

Sensing Tony was close to drifting off again, Happy suggested watching the latest episode of _Downtown Abbey_. Though everyone agreed, no one was watching closely enough to follow the plot. Happy was consulting his tablet and Rhodey and Pepper were alternating checking on Tony, who was doing more sleeping than watching. Steve only knew this because he was intermittently checking on Tony as well.

When 8:30 rolled around, Seo-yun, the wing nurse, kicked them all out for the night. Steve and Happy crossed the hallway to their room, which had been outfitted as a mobile security base complete with uplink to the security cams, while Rhodey and Pepper left for a near-by hotel. Rhodey had wanted to alternate watches with Steve and Happy, but they all knew he would have the most success in caring for Pepper during this trying time.

Two of Fury's guards, who had arrived this afternoon via SHIELD quinjet, held position outside Tony's door; their teammates were staked out on the main level and in the security office. After checking both the legitimacy of both their badges and calling Fury to confirm, Happy read the two on-duty guards the riot act, to which they both replied, "yes, sir."

While Happy sorted them out, Steve slid behind the wall of screens in the room across the hall and asked JARVIS for the latest updates. It was quiet, and if all went well, it would stay that way. Only the four of them, Fury, and Helen and her team knew that Tony was in Seoul undergoing surgery, but Steve didn't have high hopes that that would remain a secret for long.

If luck was on their side though, Tony would be on his way to fully recovered before anyone else found out.

* * *

Thankfully, the night passed without major incident and, bright and early the next morning, Tony was prepped for the first round of the Cradle.

"Stop looking at me like that," he scowled at all of them as Seo-yun finished the final rounds of tests. "It feels like my own funeral."

Pepper forced a watery smile onto her face. She didn't say anything though and just bent down to kiss his cheek. "Good luck," she whispered though it was loud enough for the room to hear.

Rhodey and Happy shook Tony's hand, their silence filled with more meaning than any words could convey.

"Any advice on regrowing massive amount of bone and other important squishy stuff?" Tony then asked, turning to face Steve. To the untrained eye, he was as calm and collected as someone in a hospital bed could be. But Steve could see the flicker of his eyes around the room and the soft twitch of his mouth, indicating he wasn't as confident in this whole procedure as he'd led the rest of his family to believe.

Steve grinned. "You'll be happy when it's over." He reached out and grabbed Tony's hand, squeezing it slightly. "We'll be here when you get out."

Tony just bit down on his lip and nodded.

"Time to go," Seo-yun said as she kicked off the brakes to his bed and began pushing him out of the room. "You all can wait down the hallway. We'll be sure to share any updates."

As Tony was wheeled away, Steve called out, "And Tony Stark's heart grew three sizes that day."

Tony raised the hand with the IV in it above the headboard and flipped him the bird.

* * *

Tony's operation was finished in two days, not three, but just as Helen had predicted, he was weak as a kitten. He needed help with even the most basic functions and oscillated between being happy he was on his way to a recovery and angry that his body wasn't working the way he wanted.

Frustrated with his own weakness, he was more prone to lashing out at his friends instead of accepting their help. His body may have been failing him but his mind and tongue were anything but. Steve didn't take the harsh words personally—he knew he wasn't the most pleasant to be around while he was recovering either. Plus he had the joy of remembering what it felt like to have his own body betray him at every turn—and kept trying to help without explicitly helping. For example, if he offered to get something for Tony, the inventor would either say he no longer wanted it or try to get it himself when someone's back was turned. So Steve resorted to the same tricks Bucky and his mom had used when he was sick, by making sure the things Tony might want were accessible from the hospital bed.

The arguments diminished greatly after Steve put his plan in action (and looped in Happy, Rhodey and Pepper, who were already doing variations of it on their own). Tony either hadn't caught on to their scheme or didn't comment, which was just as well. He had plenty of other things to deal with.

The night before Tony was set to go home, Steve spelled Happy around ten and settled in for his watch. Across the hall, Tony was fast asleep, his heart monitor ticking softly but steadily.

Steve hadn't realized he'd drifted off until JARVIS woke him, and he blinked fuzzily at the monitors until his eyes focused. When he saw Tony shifting his legs off the side of the bed using the walker as leverage, Steve sprang from his seat, crossed the hallway in two strides, and pushed past the security guards to enter Tony's room.

"What are you doing?"

Tony didn't even look up from where he was trying to finagle the hospital booties onto his feet. "Walking. Gotta pass my test tomorrow." He had to walk twenty feet unassisted in order to be discharged.

Steve had no opposition to that in general, but the dark hallways with Tony's already shaky balance did not seem like a good combination. "Are you sure that's—"

"Yes."

"You're not allowed to be walking unsupervised."

"So then supervise me." Tony struggled to pull the bootie onto his foot, and when he failed yet again, he swore up a storm and kicked out his leg. "Help?"

He'd said it so softly Steve almost wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. He knew better than to make a big deal about it though so instead of commenting, he just quickly helped slide the footed bootie onto Tony's foot.

Tony didn't even bother trying the other side and just held out that leg too.

"Where are we going?" Steve asked once both booties were secured.

Tony shrugged and leveraged himself to his feet. That was when Steve realized Tony was no longer connected to his monitors that were still beeping happily in the background.

Tony must have seen that glance for he just grinned uneasily. "Don't ask?"

"I'm good with plausible deniability."

Tony relaxed slightly, grabbed the walker—thus avoiding a fight Steve had been ready to have—and eased himself out of the room. The guards moved to stop him but Steve quickly assured them Tony would be fine and that they weren't going far. They must have seen how Tony was struggling to walk even being supported by the walker, for they just situated themselves on opposite ends of the hallway and continued their watch.

With that settled, Steve easily caught up to Tony, then slowed so he was walking right by Tony's side. "Twenty feet, huh?"

"Might as well be a mile." At this short distance, Tony was already starting to sweat, and he was gripping the walker with white knuckles. As if sensing he was quickly losing strength, Tony stopped then stepped outside of the walker and held out his hand, which with bent elbow was a few inches away from the wall.

"What's twenty feet? Two doors down?"

"About that."

Tony nodded then set his jaw and took a shaky step forward. Knowing how important this was to Tony, Steve didn't rush in with assistance or offer platitudes; he just pushed the walker forward, making sure to stay by Tony's side.

Tony only made it about fifteen feet before he had to lean against the wall and support himself with the railing. He was breathing hard and his eyes had a glassy sheen to them. Steve wished he'd had the foresight to bring a glass of water since he couldn't leave Tony alone now.

"Do you want to keep going?" he asked after a moment.

Tony swallowed hard then nodded. Moving even slower than before, he shuffled the last few feet then practically collapsed against the walker.

"Do that tomorrow and you're home free," Steve said. He reached out to pat Tony's shoulder in congratulations but quickly realized that might come off as condescending. Instead, he pretended like he'd been meaning to cross his arms over his chest the whole time.

Wheezing, Tony nodded then hauled himself into a mostly upright position.

"Ready to go back?" Steve asked.

Tony nodded again but instead of using the walker, he stepped aside and returned to his spot by the wall.

"Are you sure?" Tony was struggling to balance while just standing there. It was the only objection Steve'd made the entire night and hoped he wouldn't face backlash for it.

Thankfully, Tony nodded a third time and inhaled deeply. "Gotta."

Seven achingly long minutes later, Tony all but fell into his bed. He downed at least two cups of water then dropped his head back against the pillow. When his heart rate had settled down into a normal range, he pulled the leads off a black box, which he then hid under his pillow, and reattached them to his chest.

"Well, that was exhausting," he deadpanned.

"It'll get easier," Steve replied. Keenly sensing that Tony wanted some space, he asked, "You need anything?" to which Tony just shook his head.

"Okay then. See you in the morning," Steve said before walking out of Tony's room.

* * *

The next morning, Tony shuffled down the twenty feet without needing to stop, then flew through the remainder of his discharge tests with similar ease. Paperwork was signed, 'thank you's said to Helen and her team, and home care and follow-up instructions given.

"You will follow these," Helen said, tapping the sheet at the top of Tony's folder. "Or I will fly to New York and make you do them myself."

It was obvious to everyone that she meant it. Tony nodded somberly then held out his hand. "Thank you again," he said in barely more than a whisper.

"Take care of yourself, Tony," Helen replied warmly before leaving to tend to her other patients.

Tony, Steve, Happy, Pepper and Nurse Eun then headed up to the helipad where an SI jet that had been retrofitted with repulsor tech for a vertical takeoff just barely fit. Tony insisted on wheeling himself out of the elevator, much to Eun's chagrin, and tried walking the jet bridge on his own. He heard Eun cluck unhappily in the background but she let him walk over to the steps unassisted. She must have known he wasn't going to get far, and in hindsight, she was completely correct.

From the first step, Tony knew this was a huge mistake. Not one to quit though, he struggled up the second step, then the third. By that time, his lungs were aching and his knees were shaking so badly he was surprised he was still upright.

Only four more steps. He could do this...

He couldn't do it. His body was still far too worn out from the surgery. But he was _not_ about to call for help.

He heard a noise beside him and rolled his head right to see Rhodey standing next to him. His pride hurt but his logic realizing he didn't have another choice, Tony allowed Rhodey to wrap an arm around his shoulders and take some of his weight. Intertwined, the two of them struggled up the last four stairs.

Once inside the jet, Tony plopped down on the couch, sweating bullets, and almost moaned with relief at the feel of the soft fabric surrounding him.

"Home, JARVIS," he grunted as he shifted to make himself more comfortable. "And step on it."

"Seconded," Pepper agreed. She handed Tony a bottle of greenish smoothie Helen had prescribed every four hours and took her seat beside him.

Tony scowled at the bottle, but at Pepper's look, popped off the cap, plugged his nose, and took a few long pulls. His love for Pepper had grown to an almost impossible height when she hadn't tried to stop him from walking up the jet bridge on his own, but he suspected he was going to get quite an earful from her once they were back home. That was at least fourteen hours away though, which made that future-Tony's problem. Current-Tony was just happy he no longer had a gaping hole in his chest.

Steve and Happy settled in the jet not long after, and after Captain Jones performed the pre-flight checks, they were airborne. It was only then that Tony noticed how worn out the two of them looked. Happy was pale and had bruise-like rings under his eyes; a decently strong wind could have probably blown him over. Steve looked slightly better but even he was looking frayed around the edges. Tony then looked over at Rhodey and Pepper, who were the most put-together of all of them, but still looked like they could use some interrupted sleep and a serious vacation.

"So, thanks," Tony said, apropos of nothing. "All of you. For everything you all did over the past week. I know I wasn't the nicest human, but I…" he swallowed hard as the words stuck in his throat. "…appreciate it. I really did appreciate it."

His four friends smiled warmly.

"You'd do the same for us," Pepper said.

"But with less bedside manner," Rhodey chimed in.

"I don't know about that. His bedside manner is actually pretty good." Steve looked up from the magazine he was perusing and shrugged. "Guess the rest of you just haven't earned that privilege yet."

Rhodey looked at Tony with mock affront. "You're holding out on us? You just met him a year ago and he already gets the warm and cuddlies from you?"

"Pepper is the only one who gets warm and cuddlies from me," Tony retorted as he turned to Rhodes and shot him a scathing look. "And for the record, I have a great bedside manner. You remember senior year when you drank so much during Halloweek that you missed your midterm? Who was it that called the school as your dad citing a family emergency, which allowed you to retake the midterm and get you a passing grade in the class?"

"I also recall you rubbing my back with a broom because you couldn't be in the same room as me."

"I was a sympathetic vomiter! You can't hold that against me."

"He stayed in the same bathroom as me until I could breathe again," Steve said, turning so Rhodey could see his shit-eating grin.

Rhodey shook his head sadly but the effect was belayed by the smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "All those years of friendship."

Tony rolled his eyes, but allowed Rhodey to continue to air his fake grievances. Summer 1985 was the last one he remembered before he drifted off, surrounded by four of the people he hated the least in the world.

* * *

**Up next: Steve gets in a car accident. In his concussed state, he only remembers one phone number.**

**Thanks for reading! Comments/reviews are greatly appreciated!**


	6. Steve: Car Accident

**A/N****: Until this fic is done, Steve should really avoid heavy machinery. They seem to be out to get him.**

* * *

Sentimental was not a word one typically used to describe Tony Stark. When he realized he and Pepper had barely spent any time together since his surgery that wasn't SI or Avengers-related, however, he'd rescheduled his meetings (all by himself, thank you very much) and arranged to fly to Tokyo to surprise her. She was there for the week, participating in the quarterly SI All Hands event.

As Tony stepped onto the tarmac, the door of a nondescript car idling ten yards away opened and Pepper, wearing the white business skirt he loved so much, slid out.

Tony skipped the last two steps of the jet bridge and rushed to meet her. "This was supposed to be a surprise," he grumbled as he pulled her close and breathed in her flowery shampoo.

"I know," Pepper began but she was cut off by the ringing of a cell phone. Tony huffed out a complaint as she pulled away to check the device in her purse. "It's not me."

Tony frowned as he pulled his own phone from his jacket. "It's Restricted," he said, thumbing the volume to silence the ring then pocketing the device again. "Not important."

When he looked back up at Pepper, her face was contorted with worry. "I think you should answer it," she said. Her voice was uncharacteristically tinny like it was being filtered through a synthesizer.

Tony's expression soured until it matched Pepper's. "Honey, I don't—" he protested but Pepper spun around on her heel and walked away.

"Pep, wait!" As Tony took off after her, his phone began to ring again, louder and sharper than before. It increased in volume until it was practically deafening.

"Answer that, Tony," Pepper instructed as she slid into the backseat of the car and her driver closed the door behind her.

Tony Stark bolted upright in his bed in the penthouse suite of Stark Tower, and scanned his surroundings for any sign of his girlfriend. He cursed as he realized he was the only one in bed since Pepper really was attending the event in Japan for the rest of the week. The annoying ringing had apparently followed him from his dream and he rubbed at his ears to stop it. Only then did he see his phone light up on the nightstand.

It was an unregistered number, just like in his dream. Tony was set to ignore it but something about the situation just didn't seem right. Even telemarketers knew better than to call in the middle of the night, if they wanted their stock to survive the next closing, and Tony'd learned early on in the superhero business that nothing good ever came of a late night phone call.

He really hoped it was the former. "Who is this?" Tony demanded the instant he thumbed the 'accept' button on his StarkPhone.

"Tony?" a quiet male voice asked. It was so unlike its owner's normal timbre that it took Tony a moment to place who it was.

"Steve?"

"Shit… You were 'sleep. Didn' mean... ta wake... you."

_Must be a bad connection,_ Tony thought as the background noise threatened to overtake the line. There was no way Steve was out somewhere that noisy at this hour.

"I'm up now," Tony muttered as he glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand which read 2:07 and scrubbed at his eyes. "What do you need?"

"Can you... come get me?"

Tony groaned. "You can't just run home, Steve? I just fell asleep like an hour ago." He'd been up late in the workshop trying to ignore the fact that Pepper was gone.

"Well, no…" Steve said slowly.

Just then, Tony heard a loud electronic voice in the background of Steve's call. "Dr. Jamison to OR1. Dr. Jamison to OR1."

Tony sat bolt upright in his bed; his stomach clenched as his sleep-addled brain began to put the pieces together. "Steve, where are you?" he demanded, needing clarification that his friend wasn't just watching some medical drama on television.

"Captain Rogers' call is coming from Community General," JARVIS intoned at the same moment Steve slowly replied, "Hospital."

Tony sprang out of bed, grabbed a pair of pants from the ground and began stuffing his limbs into them. "What the hell happened, Steve?"

"Car accident," his friend mumbled. He continued speaking but he was slurring his words so badly and speaking so softly that Tony couldn't understand what he was saying.

"Steve. Steve! Is there someone with you now?" he demanded as he yanked a shirt over his head and sprinted to the elevator.

"Should I call Happy?" JARVIS asked as he jammed his index finger at the 'down' button.

"No, it's his night off. I got it."

Tony heard a whoosh of air on the line. "I can't see you Steve. Is that a yes or a no?"

"No," Steve said after a painfully long moment. "I stole his…"

"There you are!"

"He found me," Steve hissed.

"Let me talk to him, Steve." The second the elevator arrived, Tony slid through the doors before they had opened fully and punched the button for the parking garage. "Boost the signal, J. We can't lose this call!"

There was a loud clattering sound on the far end of the line before another man said, "This is Dr. Travis of Community General."

"Do you know who you have in front of you?"

"I know who Captain America is," Dr. Travis replied indignantly. "That's why I wouldn't let him leave without overnight supervision."

The elevator dinged its arrival in the parking garage and Tony sprinted for his bank of cars. "What happened?"

"From the looks of it, someone ran a red light and T-boned Steve—Captain Rogers' car."

"How is he?" Tony threw open the door to an ordinary Accord then tore out of the garage, leaving an incensed pedestrian in his wake.

"He has a few broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder. He did sustain a concussion, most likely from hitting his head against the window."

"How bad?"

"We believe it to be a Grade 1, so while it's still extremely serious, we're lucky it wasn't worse. But he needs someone to stay with him tonight and check his mental state every few hours."

The Tony of the past would have hesitated and tried to find some way around this responsibility. But now, given how much Steve (and by proxy, the rest of the team) had done for him on multiple occasions, there wasn't even an option. The biggest problem was going to be getting Steve 'I'm fine on my own' Rogers on board with this plan. "I'm on my way. Can you stay with him until I get there?"

He heard Steve groan loudly in the background.

"Won't be a problem," Dr. Travis promised.

* * *

Twenty-two minutes later, Tony screeched to a stop outside the Community General's ER and hustled through the sliding doors.

"Paul Brown's room?" he asked the information desk volunteer, having been informed by Dr. Travis that Steve had been checked in under an alias.

"Room 121," the woman replied after consulting her computer.

Tony nodded his thanks and took off down the hallway. He was stopped outside Steve's room by a guard, but showing his id was enough to get him in.

Saying Steve looked awful was a bit of an understatement. His face was a mess of cuts and bruises, a large white piece of gauze was taped over his left cheek, and his left arm was in a thick blue sling. He was propped up in a hospital bed, staring blankly at the wall in front of him, while the sandy-haired doctor sitting next to him was telling some sort of ridiculous story.

"You left out the part where he looks like he went through a meat grinder," Tony said levelly as he raked his eyes over his friend again and assessed the damage a second time.

"Luckily, it's all superficial," Dr. Travis replied before standing and holding out his hand to Tony. "Thank you for coming so quickly. You're saving us a lot of money in private security."

As Dr. Travis was speaking, Steve began looking around the room. It took longer than usual for his gaze to focus on Tony. "You came," he then said, with unfettered relief in his tone.

Tony's heart twinged slightly—had he ever given Steve a reason to think he wouldn't come for an emergency like this?—but then he forced himself to let it go. It was clear Steve was barely holding onto consciousness, and wasn't intentionally being harsh.

"Of course." Tony turned back to Dr. Travis. "Is there anything else you didn't tell me?"

"Supersoldier or not, he's going to be sore tomorrow. The rest we've already discussed."

When Steve remained uncharacteristically silent, Tony looked over his shoulder to see the bruised supersoldier passed out on the hospital bed. "Any reason I can't take him home?"

"Nope."

Tony thought he was in the clear, but then Dr. Travis held out a thick packet of papers. "As long as you fill out the discharge paperwork, he's all yours."

Tony stared down at the massive pile of paperwork as his wrist began to ache preemptively. But then he scowled, set his jaw and grabbed the sheath.

"Got a pen?"

* * *

Once the paperwork was done, Janet, the duty nurse, appeared to help prepare Steve for discharge. Tony remained by his side while Janet unhooked him from the equipment, reviewed what Tony was monitoring for tonight, and wheeled Steve down to the main floor.

Steve did his best to lower himself into Tony's car on his own accord but ended up almost face-planting into the door jamb, at which point Tony and Janet assumed a majority of Steve's weight and began stuffing long, bruised limbs into the passenger's seat. When they were all situated, Janet handed over a folder of paperwork and Steve slurred out something that was probably supposed to be a 'thank you'.

They were about ten minutes into an otherwise silent drive back to the Tower when Steve sat bolt upright. "Pull over," he ground out, his face an alarming shade of green.

Tony did so without question and had barely stopped the car on the shoulder before Steve threw open the door and began vomiting.

Tony's stomach quickly began to curdle and he leaned his head out his own window and focused on breathing in fresh air. He would not throw up; he had splurged on Ray's last night and had no desire to see it again.

As Steve's misery continued, Tony risked a quick glance back into the car to see Steve hadn't even managed to get his seat belt undone, and was hanging limply against it while his stomach did its best to invert itself. The smell was now starting to permeate so Tony rolled down all the windows, flipped on the air, directed the vents toward Steve, then stuck his head out the window as far as he could, while praying to every entity up there to let him keep his dinner down.

Thankfully, Steve's latest round of retching subsided not long after, leaving only the sounds of labored breathing in its wake.

"You done?" Tony asked after thirty seconds of peace.

He heard a shuffling sound and glanced back to see Steve nodding uneasily but still hanging against his seat belt. While he struggled to pull himself back into the car, Tony began looking around for something for Steve to rinse out his mouth with. After digging in the backseat, he found a half-full water bottle and held it out.

"It's Pepper's and of indeterminate age, but the serum takes care of bacteria, so you should be fine."

Steve still looked a little green but he nodded, so Tony uncapped the bottle and pushed it into the supersoldier's hands. Steve swished around a large gulp of the water then leaned out of the car to spit it out.

"Do you want to wait a little longer?" Tony asked as Steve heaved himself back into his seat.

"No." Steve waved at the highway with his right hand. "Jus' get it over with."

By the time Steve had pulled the door closed, Tony had shifted the car into drive and pulled back onto the highway, this time being careful to stay in the right lane and go exactly the speed limit, just in case that helped. Either it did or Steve was over whatever had caused him to throw up, for they had no further incidents on the way back to the Tower.

Then came the fun of maneuvering Steve out of the car and supporting him as he walked to the elevator with all the coordination of a newborn deer. Needless to say, both Steve and Tony were happy when they reached Steve's room and Steve dropped bonelessly onto his bed.

"Steve? Your legs?" Tony asked, motioning to the supersoldier's offending limbs which were still booted and on the floor. Steve opened his eyes and blinked owlishly, as if not understanding what Tony was referring to.

"I guess we're doing this the hard way then." Grumbling under his breath, Tony grabbed Steve's legs and hauled them on the bed. Steve might have tried to help a little, but the potential effort was so uncoordinated, Tony wasn't sure it wasn't just Steve subconsciously shifting position. All he knew was that by the time Steve was lying correctly in bed with a sheet pulled up to his torso, Tony was sweating bullets and out of breath himself.

He tried to make it to the elevator to get back to his own bed, but got sidetracked by the couch in the entryway to Steve's floor. It was as good a bed as any, considering he had to be up in two hours to test Steve's mental state. In fact, it would save him the walking back down to this floor. Go him.

"J," he slurred as he curled up on the couch. "Wake me up in two hours, or if anything changes."

"As you wish, sir."

* * *

A measly seventeen minutes later, Tony was jarred awake by a phone call.

"No," he groaned as he fumbled with his phone and glanced blearily at the display. Fury. That could not be good.

He really wanted to let it go to voicemail, but 1) he'd promised Pepper he'd at least _try_ to play nice with SHIELD, and 2) it could be an emergency. He answered it with only a shade of his usual snark.

"Are you in contact with Rogers?" Fury demanded, completely ignoring Tony's witty opening.

"As a matter of fact I am."

"Good. I need him to come in. He have a situation—"

"Steve's not going anywhere," Tony interrupted.

There was a brief stunned pause before Fury spoke up again. "Excuse me?"

"He was in a car accident tonight. I assume his phone was shattered, which is why you're calling me. He'll be fine, but not in time to be your errand boy."

"I see."

In the ensuing pause, Tony pulled the phone away from his ear, snapped a picture of Steve's bruised face, and forwarded it to Fury.

"Proof is on your phone if you don't believe me."

"I did, believe it or not, without the evidence." There was a slightly fumbling sound while Tony presumed Fury was examining the photo. "Give Rogers my best. Tell him to call me when he's back up and running."

Before Tony could respond, the line went dead.

"No problem," he said to dead air, before lying back down on the couch and resituating himself. At this rate, it was going to be a long night.


	7. Tony: Abducted

**A/N: This fic was started as a way**** to publish snippets of stories I'm never going to finish. The 3 AM phone call to Tony and Steve's mystery illness sat on my hard drive for years as scenes that never made their way into a story. I liked them so much, I pulled parts from other unfinished fics, wrote a bunch of other hurt/comfort scenarios for different phases of Steve and Tony's friendship, and bundled them into a publishable collection of one-shots.**

**This opening, parts of the later Revenge chapter, and the upcoming Steve's broken bone chapter were part of a fic I had all planned out five years ago but never got around to writing. Set in 2013, the Avengers were sent to a conference as protection duty for Fury. Things would go wrong and Steve, Tony and Fury would get taken. They'd need to work together to save their boss and get out alive. ****A few years down the line, Steve would turn into Bucky, Fury would be forgotten, the setting changed to post-_Civil War_, and _Forced Alliance_ was born. As much as I enjoyed what that fic became, it's fun to finally get to post its original ideas.**

**_Potential Trigger Warning_: Tony will be injected with something to keep him "compliant" (we all know how well that is going to turn out), and Steve will be forced to remove it to save Tony's life. It's not at all graphic but it's worth mentioning for those who might be squicked out by it.**

* * *

A sharp pain knifed through the darkness and jerked Tony into partial awareness. He felt rough hands pressing against his biceps, keeping him flat against a strangely soft surface, while his forearm pulsed with agony. The pain intensified briefly, white-hot and piercing, then reduced to a sharp throb.

Tony struggled to open his eyes and push off the hands holding him but wasn't successful in either effort. His arm screamed as he was lifted into the air and unconsciousness threatened to pull him under again. He bit down on his tongue, trying to wake at least part of his unreactive body, but his effort was too little, too late.

* * *

A harsh clanking finally succeeded in waking Tony fully. His eyes flew open and he lifted his leaden head to find himself in a smallish room, maybe twelve feet by twelve feet at most. The windowless walls were bleached white and there was one door set into the wall to his right. Directly across from him, pushed up against the far wall, was a twin bed. The colorless sheets were stretched so tightly and the pillow so perfectly centered that the bed must have been made by someone with a military background.

Tony's gaze drifted back to his side of the room, which was when he realized he was lying on a similarly made bed. While he had been unconscious, someone had taken the liberty of relieving him of his shoes, belt and suit jacket.

He could tell from his current position that his phone and wallet were no longer in his back pockets, but on principle alone, he needed to be sure. He moved his left hand toward his waist and gasped as pain rolled through his forearm. He glanced down to find that the long sleeve of his dress shirt had been rolled up, revealing a large lump about two inches down from his left elbow. Blood leaked slowly from a neatly stitched-up line, less than an inch in length.

As panic surged, Tony clumsily pushed on the object, ignoring the ensuing agony in his arm, in an attempt to work it out from under his skin. His utter lack of coordination led him to assume one, he had been drugged and two, whatever it was had clearly not worn off since his fingers refused to work properly.

"I would not do that if I were you," a masculine voice crooned. Tony tore his gaze away from his arm and glared up at the ceiling, noticing for the first time a small speaker, also painted white, set in the middle of the ceiling. It was mounted directly next to a 360 degree camera.

"Why not?" Tony snapped while continuing to prod the lump in his forearm.

"Because we've injected you with a capsule filled with a highly combustible plastic explosive."

Tony's right hand instantly fell away. "Why?" was the only question he could manage as his sluggish brain began to calculate what sort of damage could be done if the lump was truly an explosive. He could lose his hand, maybe even his entire arm, if it went off and that wasn't even taking into consideration blood loss and arterial trauma.

The longer he was conscious, the more aware he became of the array of unpleasant outcomes. His heart began to race, his hands went cold, and his lungs stuttered for breath. He needed his hands. They were a fundamental part of what he did, of who he was.

Soon Tony was in very real danger of passing out unless he got his brain some oxygen.

He had to calm down.

It took monumental, almost Herculean effort, but Tony grounded himself with the rough sheets beneath his body and other methods he'd developed after Afghanistan. He wasn't sure how long it took, but eventually he was breathing semi-regularly again, though the lump in his forearm pounded with every breath.

"We have no intention of setting off this device, Mr. Stark," the voice continued. "We have only implemented it as collateral, in case our instructions are not followed."

"What instructions?"

There was a long silence, in which Tony almost wanted to cover the lump on his arm, as if that would somehow keep the device from exploding.

"We are a small organization looking to amass some assets," the voice finally said.

"If you're looking for an Iron Man suit, you can just detonate this thing right now. I won't give it to you."

The voice chuckled. "Such dramatics. No, Mr. Stark, a suit is not what we are after. We seek more… subtle… assets. You will get them for us, in a way that cannot be traced back to us. Do this, and you will be released."

Did criminals actually believe their captives believed that? Tony knew there was no way he would be let go, at least not in the condition he was currently in. However, there would be time while pretending to acquire the assets that he could potentially use to figure out a way home; he'd made more work with a lot less.

"If you are not successful," the voice continued, "or you attempt to escape, we will, regretfully, detonate the charge in your arm."

"Naturally."

"We will be dropping off a computer shortly. Do not attempt to attack the person who delivers it. We have full eyes in the room and will—"

"I know, I know." Tony rolled his eyes dramatically enough for it to be seen from wherever the voice was. "You'll detonate the charge in my arm."

"I'm so glad we understand each other."

They didn't really, but until Tony got the lump in his arm under control, he needed to play along. And that meant pretending like he was actually going to acquire the mysterious assets for the voice. "I need something though," he interjected, after a quick scan around the room.

"You are not in a position to make demands."

"I think this one is fair. I need a station to work on. Can't do it on the floor. A table and a chair is fine. Padding is bonus. You don't have any outlets in here. Don't know what kind of computer you have but I will long outlast a laptop battery. I need some sort of numbing agent for my arm. You know where you put it, you know what it's resting against. If I can't use it to type, I'll be here a lot longer."

"Anything else?" the voice drolled.

"Food would be nice too. Nothing fancy, of course, but food. It's been a while since I've eaten."

There was a long silence in which Tony was afraid he'd overstepped. He didn't so much as change posture though, physically holding his ground.

"We'll see what we can do," the voice said eighty-four seconds later. "But Mr. Stark?"

"Yes, dear?"

"No tricks."

For a split second, the lump in his arm ratcheted up in pain. It was most likely psychological, but Tony wasn't taking any chances.

He fixed the camera with his most winning smile and said, "I would never."

* * *

Two hours later, Tony was fully set-up with a folding table, a metal chair with what looked like a stuffed T-shirt on top of its seat, a laptop attached to an extension cord that ran out of the room, and a slightly soggy turkey and cheese sandwich. The masked guard then handed over a small tube.

Tony quickly read the label, though in reality he had no idea what half the words meant, and spread a small amount over the tear in the knee of his designer jeans. It went hot on contact, then left a cooling numbness behind. There was no burning, bubbling, or any other negative sensations.

Cautiously optimistic, Tony rubbed a more liberal amount over the lump in his arm, then tried flexing his fingers. He grinned when that small motion didn't aggravate his injury.

"List is on the desktop. Get going," the guard growled before he left the room, slamming the door behind him.

It was easy for Tony to determine that that guard was not the voice over the speakers. Even run through some sort of disguising software, his speech pattern was all wrong. So there were at least two people here—wherever here was—but probably more.

Tony poked the cushion, not finding it stuffed with anything sharp, then cautiously sat down. He hadn't been serious about needing it, but wasn't going to _not _use it now that they'd brought it. It did reveal though that the voice so needed this to work, that he was acquiescing Tony's requests. That gave this situation a note of desperation.

Tony wasn't sure what he would do with that information, but he tucked it off to the side all the same.

He then opened the lone text file on the desktop and began to read. The requested assets were surprisingly mundane: buildings, tools, uniforms. The voice was basically asking Tony to prepare its group for some event, without actually doing the work itself.

"How exactly do you want me to buy a building?" Tony questioned. He had his own ideas, sure, but wanted to see what exactly the voice thought he could do.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out," was all he got as an answer. Then he heard the microphone clicking off before silence reigned.

Tony paged through the list again, moving the items around until he had them grouped in three sections. Then he cracked his knuckles and opened a browser. It had been a while since he'd done things like this by hand—usually he deferred to JARVIS—but it was old hat. His fingers flew over the keyboard, downloading his usual clients and other tools of his trade.

"I'll have to route the traffic," he informed the voice as he typed. He could only assume his online activity was being monitored, which made his plan more difficult, but not impossible. "So they can't trace it back to you."

There was no answer, but he wasn't really expecting one.

Then Tony made his opening move. Long ago, he and Rhodey had created contingencies should he ever get abducted again. One of the first ones they'd set up was an online dump site—just incoming messages, no outgoing. Tony only hoped Rhodey still remembered to check it. He dropped a message in there, as casual as the rest of the inquiries he made about the buildings.

After that, he turned to the uniforms, which were stupid easy to acquire. The weapons and artillery they were asking for took a lot more digging in parts of the web he hadn't frequented in years. He left just enough suspicion in his messages that, by the time he was ready to close the deal, the buyers all backed out for one reason or another. Nothing was obvious enough to get his arm detonated, but they were suspicious enough to draw out his stay until Rhodey received his message.

Tony couldn't risk sending another message to Rhodey for at least another hour, so instead, he pinged SHIELD's secret server from a command line utility, under the guise of writing a script to automatically generate an email body. He really didn't want to be saved by Eyepatch and his band of merry men, but the weight of that humiliation far outweighed the consequences of him staying here with a ticking time bomb in his arm.

"You're stalling," the voice drawled after yet another buyer turned Tony down. An hour had passed and the only items he had been able to successfully acquire were the uniforms.

Tony wiped the sweat from his forehead, noticing in the light from the monitor how red his arm was around the injection site. "I'm not. They know I'm not legit. They don't want to take the risk." He stopped typing and looked up at the camera in the ceiling. "If you pony up some real cash, I can spread it around, make you seem more reliable."

Yet again, there was only silence.

Not surprised, Tony had just returned to work, when the voice spoke up, "you have one hundred thousand dollars."

Tony grinned widely into the camera. "That will do nicely."

* * *

Three hours later, the voice was definitely getting suspicious. Tony had managed to secure two buildings, the uniforms, and other small miscellany. The weapons though, he'd somehow managed to screw up each time.

"We are running out patience, Mr. Stark."

"I'm doing my best." And really, he was, in a sense. The last two buyers had turned away before Tony could even begin to sneak in suggestions of how suspicious he was. The one thing he'd forgotten to consider was how a community like that talked. Even changing his username and masking his IP address hadn't helped.

_I'm running out of time, guys... Come get me!_ Tony mentally snapped as he pinged SHIELD's secret server yet again.

The voice had installed a burly guard in Tony's room eighteen minutes ago, and now said brick wall was moving in, his hand hovering threateningly over his weapon. Tony subtly disconnected the laptop charger under the guise of tapping 'escape', and was fully prepared to use it as a weapon if need be.

The guard stopped in his tracks when he heard a knock on the door. He cocked his head almost comically then spun on his heel and walked back the way he came. His weapon cocked and up by his shoulder, he asked, "Who goes there?"

The door banged open and a flash of red, white, and blue burst into the room. With two punches and a high-kick, the guard was sent crashing into the far wall, where he slumped to the ground, motionless.

"You okay?" Steve demanded as he turned back to face Tony.

"Are we including the bit of explosive in my arm?"

"No." Steve unclasped one of the pouches on his belt and pulled out an arm band. "That's from Bruce. Should block the signals until we get out of here." He stalked back to the door then peered out into the hallway. "Coast is clear. Let's go."

Tony slid the band on, grabbed the laptop—who knew what else was stored on it—and followed Steve.

They passed nothing but massive destruction. There were bodies, broken weapons, and blood spattered across every floor in sight.

"Where's the rest of the team?" Tony asked, hurrying to keep up with Steve.

"Just me for now. Rest comes in once you're clear."

Tony had always known the soldier had an impressive skill set but seeing it on display like this was something else. "I'm really glad you're on our side," he muttered.

Steve smiled thinly and continued to lead the way to safety.

It was only on the quinjet, after Tony waited with baited breath for Steve to get them in the air, that the supersoldier returned to his arm.

"I can wait," Steve said, eyeing the way Tony was practically clutching the arm band with his right hand. "Bruce said the shields are good."

Tony hadn't had a chance to go into detail about the object in his arm in the clues he'd left on both Rhodey's and SHIELD's servers, so apparently Bruce had gone with something very multi-purpose. According to Steve, Bruce'd emailed said plan to JARVIS, who had uploaded it into the quinjet's cloaking mechanism. That and the band seemed to be doing well thus far, considering Tony's hand was still attached to his arm.

As much faith as Tony had in Bruce's work, he still wanted the device out; there was always the possibility it had some failsafe timing mechanism. Tony took a deep breath and held out his arm. "Just get it over with."

Steve nodded then quickly but calmly gathered his supplies. A team of SHIELD medics had been preemptively gathered, and they were huddled around a monitor teleconferencing in. While Steve was gathering supplies, they asked Tony to hold up his arm and began giving Steve suggestions about where to make his cuts.

Steve prepped a stronger numbing agent then held the syringe out to Tony. "You wanna do it?"

It the situation hadn't been quite so dire, Tony would have said the gesture was thoughtful—Steve was clearly going out of his way to keep this from triggering any of his flashbacks. But they didn't have the time, so Tony just shook his head. "You have a better angle."

Steve nodded then inserted and deployed the syringe. "Do you want them gone?" he said quietly, almost inaudibly, while they waited for the area to numb. "Contrary to their belief, I know what I'm doing."

The memories that had been clawing their way into Tony's conscious did so now at a quicker pace: the videos, the dog-and-pony show, being on display—

"Yes."

Nodding imperceptibly, Steve turned toward the row of instruments he'd already set up. While reaching for a scalpel, he bumped the camera with his elbow, effectively shattering it.

"Oops," he deadpanned.

That was the exact second Tony felt some of the air return to the room.

By the time Steve had freed the scalpel from its packaging, Tony couldn't feel anything below his elbow.

"I'm going to make an incision," Steve began, before describing where and how deep—again for Tony's benefit. "Let me know if it hurts you."

"Just go, Rogers," Tony snapped. _While he still had control over his rising panic._

Steve tapped Tony's arm just above the lump, and after Tony again shook his head to indicate he hadn't felt it at all, Steve made his first cut with remarkably steady hands. While applying pressure to the cut with one hand, he fetched the medical tweezers with the other and began to dig inside the incision. Tony only felt pressure not outright pain, but it was still taking everything he had still to not freak out while Steve tried to find the capsule.

Thankfully, not long after, a small, metal pill slipped free and Tony finally, _finally_ felt the vise around his chest release.

Steve handed Tony some gauze while he quickly secured the capsule in a thick metal lockbox. Then, he turned back to Tony and began to clean both his incision and the original wound.

"Thanks," Tony said, holding the gauze down again while Steve retrieved a wrap. "For this. And helping me out of there."

"Really, _you_ helped you out of there." Steve motioned for Tony to hold down the end while he began to wind the rest in a zipper-style around Tony's forearm. "I was just along for the ride."

"Still. You came." Immediately, Tony winced as he remembered how he'd felt when Steve had said a similar thing to him a few months back.

Steve though had an all-together different reaction. He looked up from bandaging Tony's arm with an expression simultaneously angry and confused. "I'll always be there for you, Tony," he said so earnestly, that Tony couldn't help but believe him. "And anyone who tells you otherwise is wrong."

The conviction in his tone was... staggering? Shocking? Neither of those words were right, but Tony couldn't settle on the correct way to describe how he was feeling. He had no doubt Steve meant his words, but he was still amazed that he'd managed to merit this level of loyalty from the supersoldier. For the longest time, it had just been him, Rhodey, Pepper and Happy, but somehow, in the last eighteen months, it appeared that his circle had grown a little too.

As had only happened a handful of times prior, Tony didn't know what to say so he awkwardly settled on, "I'll keep that in mind for next time."

Steve just let out a long-suffering sigh, secured the bandage with a clip, and began packing up the medkit. "I swear to god, Tony, it better be a long time before the next time."

Thankfully, for both their sakes, it was.

* * *

**For them, 'next time' a ways off; for you lovely readers, it's not far at all. I was home sick all this week so I cranked out the post-_Winter Soldier_ chapter for you. I will post that chapter Saturday, then we will go back to our regular Tuesday/Friday update schedule next week.**

**Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you thought!**


	8. Steve: The Winter Soldier

**Fun fact: The original Iron Man suits could fly at Mach 2, which puts the flight time between Manhattan and DC at approximately 9 minutes. Tony will of course improve on this until Mark 85, the final suit, achieves Mach 10.**

**In other news, the Marvel timeline wiki says _The Winter Soldier_ takes place in January 2014. Besides there being no snow on the ground anywhere in the film (in fact, the first shot of Steve in his First Avenger uniform has lush vegetation in the background), there is no way Sam could go jogging before dawn in DC in January in just a sweatshirt and shorts. So, I am keeping the date structure but moving the month out to late March/early April, when it makes sense for people to be dressed like they are in the film.**

**Final note: I'm taking a few artistic liberties with the hospital scene. In reality, I don't think they'd let Natasha, Sam and Tony stay, but that's what you see on all the medical dramas, so let's pretend those are the rules here too.**

* * *

"With this course of action, we expect to see—" Tony's pitch was interrupted by his StarkWatch, which was flashing and vibrating softly.

One of the board members sitting at the long conference table cleared their throat with barely-restrained disdain, but Tony risked a quick glance at his watch anyway. JARVIS knew better than to interrupt what Pepper had dubbed The Most Important Meeting of This Quarter unless it was an emergency... which meant whatever message the AI had let through was not good.

JARVIS' message was a newspaper clipping whose headline read, "Captain America: a Fugitive?"

He had to go.

Tony glanced up and located Pepper in the dim room. She winced, as if knowing what was coming, to which he just shrugged apologetically. He then walked down the aisle toward his director of marketing, handed off the clicker, and said, "Eleanor would love to continue telling you all about it."

"Tony," Pepper hissed.

"Code blue," he responded, just loud enough that only she could hear.

Her frustrated expression immediately dissipated and she whispered, "Be safe."

Tony nodded, then said to the rest of the room, "Avengers' business. Top priority. Excuse me."

"What is going on, J?" he demanded as soon as he stepped into the hallway. Holograms of various news reports and papers shot out of the watch and Tony quickly scanned them. Unfortunately, even after JARVIS had aggregated all the articles, there was little more information than Captain America had been added to the terrorist watchlist, and as such, was being warned as extremely dangerous. Instructions were to bypass the police and call SHIELD directly if he was spotted.

Involving SHIELD for each sighting was bound to buy Steve a little time. Even at full count, they were ill-equipped to keep up with all the calls that would be heading into their tip lines.

"Have you tried calling—"

"Four consecutive tries, sir. No answer."

"Barton or Romanoff?"

"No answers from either."

"Track Steve's last location."

After a beat, JARVIS reported, "The Triskellion. Eighteen hours and twenty-six minutes ago."

"Where was he headed?"

"East on the 66."

"Find him, J." Tony swiped his hand over his watch, pushing the holograms back into its face.

"Sir," JARVIS said softly, "there is other news."

"More important than Steve being declared a fugitive?"

"Nick Fury passed away early this morning. He was murdered."

Tony screeched to a stop in the middle of the hallway, sending the SI staff behind him splaying out in a huff. "He what?!"

"He was shot thrice at 11:45 last night. An ambulance picked him up from Steve's apartment at 12:04. He died on the operating table at 1:03."

_What the hell was Steve into?!_

"And he didn't call me because?" Despite his efforts to make the question sound casual, it stung that Steve hadn't reached out. After all this time, Tony hoped he had proven himself trustworthy, even in the most classified situations.

If his voice cracked a little at the end of his question, JARVIS didn't mention it. "You'll have to ask him yourself, sir. I'm sure he has a good reason."

"We have to find him first."

"I am working on it, sir."

By this time, Tony had reached his car and slid into the driver's seat. He sat there for a moment then dialed Steve's number on his StarkPhone. Sure enough, it went straight to voicemail. He didn't bother trying to trace the signal, because he had explicitly disabled that functionality on both Steve's personal phone and the one SHIELD had given him. JARVIS had probably only pinpointed Steve's last location via Triskellion security cameras, which was why it was so outdated.

Without more information, there was nothing Tony could do now but be ready, in case Steve did call.

"Back to the Tower, J, and step on it."

* * *

Tony spent the night secretly monitoring SHIELD's tip line and chasing down any viable leads. As expected, SHIELD received an almost constant barrage of calls and were struggling to keep up. Steve and Natasha had apparently been seen in numerous locations across Europe; in Perth, Australia; on a movie set in Atlanta; at a truck stop in New Jersey; descending into the Grand Canyon; crossing into Mexico; and waiting for Tim Horton's coffee in Toronto. Tony (and SHIELD) immediately threw out the overseas tips, then the ones on the West Coast. While it was _technically_ possible for Steve to be there, he would have had to use another method of transportation besides driving to be there at this hour, and none of the planes, trains, buses, or other expedited forms of travel had anyone matching his description or any of his aliases.

It wasn't until the next morning that Tony picked up his first solid lead. A grainy live feed showed Steve in DC, fighting a masked man in the middle of the causeway. By the time Tony had suited up, Steve was in handcuffs and being pushed into the back of a SHIELD-issue paddy wagon.

"J, call Trenton, Bates, whoever is available," Tony ordered, referring to the slew of lawyers SI kept on retainer. This situation was a little out of their purview, but for what they were getting paid, he had no doubt they could cobble together some sort of defense. "Steve is going to need all the help he can get."

"Where are you going, sir?"

"To DC, of course." Once the pre-flight checks were complete, the face plate clanked down and his HUD glowed with its many readouts. "Apologize to Pepper for me. Tell her I'll call when I get a chance."

"As you wish, sir."

"And don't lose him this time!"

* * *

Exactly ten minutes after taking off, Tony landed at the middle of the causeway, popped up his face plate, and demanded to know who was in charge. His skin crawled as he was directed toward Brock Rumlow, possibly the seediest person Tony had ever met, his party years notwithstanding.

"Where are you taking him?" Tony demanded.

Rumlow barely looked up from his tablet. "A holding facility."

Seeing red, Tony grabbed the front of Rumlow's tac uniform and forced him to look up. "Where?"

Rumlow's face darkened and he tried to shrug out of Tony's hold. Unfortunately for him, Tony had an iron grip on the straps of Rumlow's shoulder holsters so all the SHIELD agent could do was struggle against metal.

"You're making a scene, sir."

"Can it, J."

"I'd listen to your robot," Rumlow said, his tone almost mocking. "People are starting to notice."

Sure enough, the public had turned toward Iron Man and more than one onlooker had pulled out their phone. With great disgust, Tony released Rumlow and patted the shoulder holsters back into position. "Where. Is. Steve. Rogers?" he seethed.

Something changed in Rumlow's expression and he shook his head derisively. "He'll be processed at the Triskellion. You can—" Suddenly, he snapped to attention and grabbed at his earpiece. "Yes, sir," he said as he turned his back to Tony and walked off.

Tony felt his palm opening and heard his repulsor whine to life.

"Sir! He is not worth it."

Scowling, Tony let his fingers fall open. "You're right, J... unfortunately. Was he telling the truth?"

"It appears so. The paddy wagon is indeed heading back to the Triskellion, though it has been stopped under the bridge for quite some time."

On the other side of the street, Rumlow cursed and whirled around, his face beet red. "Find him," he growled before pulling his earpiece from his ear and storming into the alley. For a moment, Tony thought Rumlow was going to shatter the earpiece against the wall, but the SHIELD agent took a deep breath and slowly reinserted it.

For the first time since he landed in DC, Tony breathed a sigh of relief. "He got away," he murmured to JARVIS.

"It appears that way, sir."

Rumlow looked over and must have seen Tony still standing there, for he marched back across the street, absolutely furious.

"Time to make an exit!" Tony quickly engaged the foot thrusters and lifted into the air.

He was about ten feet up when JARVIS boosted the external speakers. "If you know something, Stark, you are legally obligated to tell me," Rumlow was shouting while shaking a finger at Tony's rising form.

Tony found himself whirling around before his brain could convince his body otherwise. "I'm telling you the truth," he said, popping open his face plate so Rumlow could have full view of his wide, unapologetic grin. "I have no idea where Steve Rogers is."

And with that, he flipped around and soared into the air. "Find him, J."

"Yes, sir." They'd flown just over five minutes when JARVIS spoke up again, "I have something you should see regarding Agent Romanoff."

A small rectangle popped up in the bottom left corner of the HUD. The video was blurry and unsteady, obviously shot from a cell phone, but it showed Romanoff running from foes unknown, then falling to her knees as a bullet pierced her shoulder.

Goddamn them. Didn't they know he could help?

"She's going to need medical attention," Tony said softly. "Hospitals are too obvious. Search for vet offices, bases, schools, anything a little off-path."

By this time, he'd reached the landing pad at his Tower. He tapped his wrists together and the suit's components peeled apart until he could step free.

"Call Romanoff and Rogers," he continued. "Maybe even Hill, though I doubt she'll answer. Keep running their faces, let me know when we have a potential match."

This level of secrecy was all Romanoff. There was no way Steve could drop off the grid this completely, even after all his spy training. In the definition of insanity, Tony checked and rechecked JARVIS' data and even violated his own rule on turning on the trackers in Natasha and Steve's phones. Unfortunately, neither had any data after the causeway fight, which meant the phones had been destroyed.

Pepper came down to the workshop not long after that and fetched him for dinner. Her best friend Elena was in town and Pepper wanted them to all catch up. Without any better options, Tony followed her upstairs and tried to keep up with the conversation, though he knew he spent more time checking his phone than paying attention to them.

"Why haven't they called?" Tony asked later that night, in a brief moment of insecurity. Elena had left a few hours ago, and while Pepper slept beside him, Tony was staring at the ceiling wondering how he'd screwed things up so badly that his friends who were obviously in trouble didn't reach out for help.

He hadn't been expecting a reply but Pepper sleepily mumbled, "Maybe they couldn't."

"That's bull. They could have literally sent up smoke signals and I would have figured it out."

"Maybe they thought they couldn't."

He knew Pepper was trying to be helpful but that specific answer was pretty much his worst-case scenario. He refrained from asking any follow-ups and returned to staring at the ceiling while his brain churned away.

He must have fallen asleep since he was awakened an unknown amount of time later by JARVIS reading off the morning's headlines.

"Triskellion in Flames. Captain America at Fault."

Tony was out of bed and encased by his suit in under three minutes.

* * *

While en route to DC, JARVIS intercepted an anonymous 911 call about Captain America dying on the bank of the Potamac and changed course automatically. When Tony rounded the bend and saw the scene below him, his heart sank. A pale and bloody Steve was lying motionless on the sand, surrounded by Natasha and an African-American man, who was giving Steve CPR.

Tony poured on the speed and dropped onto the riverbank, only to have a gun pointed at his face. He held his ground and after two seconds, Natasha lowered her weapon.

"He needs a hospital," she said, somewhat unnecessarily.

Tony pushed past the man and picked up Steve, wincing as he registered the squelching sound that occurred as he pulled Steve away from the sand and doing his best to ignore the amount of Steve's blood dripping down the exterior of his suit. "Call MedStar Washington," he told Natasha and her friend. "Tell 'em we're inbound."

By the time they touched down at MedStar Washington, Steve was barely breathing. Fortunately, there was a swarm of staff waiting just inside the doors, who kicked into high gear the second Tony deposited Steve on a gurney. They were asking him questions—questions Tony didn't know how to answer. With JARVIS' help, he got a hold of Natasha via the Bluetooth connection in the car they'd stolen to drive to the hospital, which seemed to appease one of the ER nurses. The rest pushed Steve into the closest room, transferred him to a bed, and began stripping off his uniform, pressing pads against his many wounds and sticking needles into his arm.

Whether or not they intended it to do so, whatever they were giving Steve intravenously pulled him out of his comatose state. He was now thrashing on the gurney, fighting against forces unseen.

"Where are his pain meds?" Tony demanded. Once he and Bruce had discovered that normal painkillers didn't work on Steve, they'd spent the better part of two weeks of last summer creating something that would.

"At the bottom of the Potomac with the rest of the Triskellion," Natasha snapped as she burst into the exam room, followed closely by the man who had been giving Steve CPR. She was looking rather pale herself, though her expression dared anyone to mention it.

"That won't do." Tony muted the exterior speakers and phoned JARVIS, who began synthesizing more of Steve's souped-up painkillers and prepping Legion 1 to bring any existing syringes from the Tower. Sacrificing stealth for speed, the bot should be here in fifteen minutes.

There was a harsh grating sound and Tony looked out from the HUD to see the railing of Steve's bed crumple under his white knuckle grip.

Natasha stepped forward and almost crumpled herself. Tony was torn between who to help but thankfully the African-American man slipped under Natasha's arm. "I got her," he said. "You take Steve."

Tony nodded, then slid his metal fingers between Steve's hand and the bed. Warnings flashed in his HUD about the force the plates in his hand were enduring but Tony muted them; he'd designed the suit to withstand greater pressure than this. "Just hold on, Steve. Your pain meds are on the way."

Steve just sucked in a rasping inhale through bloody lips. At this distance, Tony could see Steve's whole jaw swelling into colors matched only by the lower left side of his face. His right eye would be swollen closed too, if it wasn't already.

"On three."

The staff pulled the uniform away from Steve's midriff. With a strangled sound, he lurched upright, his eyes flying open in panic. He tried swinging at the orderly who was trying to press a pad against his bloody stomach, but his movements were slow, which allowed Tony to catch and deflect his blow.

"You're in the hospital," Tony grunted while struggling to keep Steve's hands still. "We got you."

"Steve." Tony looked over his shoulder to see Natasha _again_ stumbling through the door. She crashed into Steve's bed and used the rail to pull herself up to his face. "Look at me. Stop fighting. You're safe."

Ever so slowly, Steve focused on Natasha, who was barely holding herself upright. "'at?" he slurred while shakily reaching for her.

She took his hand and squeezed it between both of hers. "You're okay. We got you."

Steve's head bobbed exactly once before he went slack.

The hospital staff lurched back into motion, stating that he needed blood, that they were scheduling him for surgery, and that they needed more supplies to stop the bleeding.

"He's in pain," Natasha slurred as she leaned heavily against Steve's bed frame.

"We've given him the maximum dose," a dark-haired nurse said before diving back into her colleague's conversation.

"He's a supersoldier!" Tony exclaimed. "He needs more."

"We can't legally—"

"What do you need me to sign? I'll do it. Just get him more meds."

"Sir, we need you to—"

"I'll move when more morphine is flowing through his veins."

"Mr. Stark! We're doing—"

"He's dying."

Tony and the nurse both looked over at Natasha. "He's dying," she repeated softly and Tony noticed the glassy sheen to her eyes. "What does it matter?"

"Sir, Legion 1 has arrived."

Tony turned to the nurse. "I have an extra shipment of his meds outside. I need you to give them to him."

"I can't," the nurse repeated, almost sadly. "Not without Captain Rogers' explicit permission. And he's not of sound enough mind."

A scream ripped through the exam room and they looked over to find two orderlies pulling Natasha away from Steve, who was now semi-awake and frantically searching the room.

"What'd she do?" The nurse spun away from Tony and hurried back to check in with her colleagues.

"Do you give the hospital staff permission to use Tony's pain meds?" Natasha shouted as she was hauled bodily from the room. "Steve!"

The supersoldier blinked, then nodded.

"I need you to say it, Steve," Tony said, now understanding Natasha's plan.

"Yuth." Steve slurred through swollen lips. "Trus' 'm."

"'Yes. Trust him'," Tony clarified. "You heard that, right?" He shied away from tapping on the nurse's shoulder and instead stepped to the left so he could see her face. "Now will you let me help him?"

She still looked uncertain while her colleagues scurried around Steve, cataloging the damage and planning treatment.

"Like Natasha said, he's dying. I will sign whatever you need. But he needs those meds."

It took a long minute but she finally nodded. Tony held out his hand and a few seconds later, a case flew into the room. He popped it open then held it out so the foam-lined interior was in reach of the nurse (Susan, he could finally read on her badge).

Susan informed her colleagues of the plan, then strode over to Steve's bed and injected the light-blue syringe into the port. In seconds, Steve slumped into the gurney, all lines of pain around his face gone.

"That should last about two hours," Tony said, "so work quickly. I have more on the way."

One of the other nurses checked the clock. "Let's get him into surgery."

As they wheeled Steve away, the African-American man, who had been giving Steve CPR and who Tony now vaguely recognized from the causeway fight, walked over to him, looking about a step away from collapsing himself.

"Thank you," was all he said.

"You have a name?" Tony asked absently as he tapped on his StarkPhone, commandeering the hospital's cameras, especially the one in the room where Steve was being treated.

"Wilson." He held out his hand. "Sam Wilson."

"Welcome to the Avengers, Wilson," Tony said, ignoring Sam's outstretched hand and clapping him once on his shoulder. He walked away before Wilson could pick his jaw up off the ground.

* * *

"Why didn't you call?" After three long days of watching Steve slip in and out of consciousness, struggle to do elementary functions like breathe, and fight to keep living, Tony felt he deserved the answer.

Steve just blinked hazily at him. His eyes though, unlike previous interactions, stayed open.

Tony held a cup of ice water to Steve's lips then repeated, "Why didn't you call?"

"Couldn't," he rasped after taking a small sip.

"Bull. Shit."

Steve opened his mouth to reply but was wracked with a grating cough. Tony grabbed the oxygen mask from the hook above Steve's bed and slipped it over the soldier's face. He was rather surprised how quickly these instincts had developed.

"Were… on 'e… list."

Thanks to Natasha' deposition yesterday at Capitol Hill, Tony knew exactly which list Steve was referring to.

"I was on that list whether or not I helped you."

Confusion splashed over Steve's face and his brows furrowed.

"You know what?" Tony amended, seeing Steve's gaze unfocus briefly. "We'll talk about this when you're more lucid. Just go back to sleep."

Steve shook his head. "Couldn't," he rasped more insistently. "Risk... You... Bruce... Couldn't." His heart beat picked up and the monitoring equipment began to screech.

"It's okay, Steve. Calm down." Tony stood and gently pushed on Steve's shoulder, holding him against the bed.

Steve looked up blurrily at Tony. "You're okay," he breathed, his tone full of relief.

And Tony felt his resentment die a little bit. "Go back to sleep, Steve."

As the door behind him opened and Nurse Jian entered, Steve nodded then allowed his eyes to drift close.

"He was awake and lucid," Tony reported to Jian. "Very briefly held a conversation."

"That's extremely good news," Jian said as he noted the results in Steve's file. "If this keeps up, he'll be out of here in a few days."

At that point, Tony really was going to have a conversation with Steve about how a team only works if everyone trusts everyone else to have their backs, and actually _uses_ the resources available to them in a jam. Somewhere in New York, he was sure Pepper was laughing at this turn of events, but he couldn't find it in him to care.

Right now though, all he could do was sit back with Wilson, Natasha, and occasionally Happy, and watch over Steve, until the supersoldier was well enough to do it himself again.

* * *

**Up next: Steve discovers Tony is the recipient of hundreds of threatening emails and letters a week, and is shocked by Tony's cavalier attitude towards them.**

**Thanks for your wonderful feedback on the last two chapters! I love hearing from all of you!**


	9. Tony: Revenge

"What on earth were you guys fighting?" Tony asked as he stuck his gloved fingers through the massive gashes in Steve's stealth suit. "That's my best material!"

"They were closest to chimeras," Steve responded with a disbelieving shrug. "But with more heads."

"And _why_ wasn't I called in?"

"Pepper threatened Fury with bodily harm if you missed the board meeting." At Tony's eye roll, Steve continued, "Besides, we really did have it. One of them just got a little too close for comfort."

"I can see that." To prove his point, Tony grabbed the stealth suit by the shoulders and held it up to fully showcase the damage. It hung in tatters around the torso and the bottom left pant leg was connected by no more than a thread. "You're alright, though?"

"Nothing a few days rest won't fix."

Tony looked suspiciously through the shredded torso of the suit at Steve. "If you're lying, JARVIS will blast Clint's most questionable playlist into your room for at least three hours tonight."

"It's just a few bruises and a swollen knee," Steve said, holding up three fingers in Scout salute. "But can you fix it?" he then asked, gesturing to the suit.

"Fix it? No, it's toast. Make you a new one? Yes. What's my timeline? Is it urgent?"

Steve shook his head. "I still have the other prototype if Fury needs me."

As Tony nodded, his expression took on an absent quality which signalled he was about to be lost in his work. Before Tony went too far down that path, Steve spoke up again. "Nat and Clint should be back around three, so maybe we could do team dinner? My treat?" The team had been so busy with their daily agendas, they'd hardly seen each other over the past ten days. It was just after one o'clock now, which should give Tony plenty of time to finish up whatever he had to get done for the day.

"Yeah," Tony replied, after a beat. "I think I can swing that."

"Great. See you on the common floor at seven."

As Steve was walking out of the room, he heard Tony drop into a rolling chair and begin to talk shop to JARVIS. Steve had pretty much tuned out the actual words until he caught the phrase 'death threat'.

"What?" he demanded, whirling around to face Tony.

"What what?" Tony looked up from his workstation in confusion. It took about three seconds for realization to sink in. "Oh that. It's nothing."

"'Death threat' by its literal definition isn't nothing."

Tony waved his hand dismissively. "I get them all the time."

"You _what_?"

Tony cocked his head slightly as his confusion deepened. "Yeah, they're no big deal. One of the perks of growing up a Stark. JARVIS and Happy monitor them, filter out the phonies, let me know when I should be worried. J, do I need to be worried about this latest batch?"

"My algorithms state no."

"And since I wrote the algorithm, and it hasn't been wrong yet, I believe him."

Steve was having a hard time comprehending what was happening: his brain was stuck on the fact that Tony was receiving death threats and didn't look at all upset. Sure, he knew some flavor of that came with the territory of being a superhero—no matter how much good they did, there was always someone who wasn't happy, especially once the media ran with the story. He himself had gotten a few threatening notes after going public with his identity, but he'd treated them with the appropriate amount of respect until he was sure the threat wasn't valid… which he supposed was what Tony was doing, but no one should be that indifferent about their life being threatened.

"I don't understand," he finally managed to say.

"Well, an algorithm is a thing that—"

"Not that," Steve snapped. "The fact that you are receiving death threats and aren't telling us."

Tony blinked. "I thought that was common knowledge. It's a side effect of both of my businesses."

The look on Steve's face must have told Tony that his logic was faulty, for his face fractured slightly.

"Who else knows?" Steve demanded before Tony could form a rebuttal.

"Pepper, Rhodey and Happy, obviously," Tony replied somewhat hesitantly, as if he wasn't sure where this conversation was headed. "Anyone he tasks to investigate leads on his team. Nat from her little stint as my assistant."

That hurt a little bit. After the events of last April, he thought he and Natasha had reached a new understanding about compartmentalization. It seemed that hadn't extended outside the purview of the two of them. "Tony, you should have told us."

"But it's not your problem," the inventor repeated, still visibly confused. "It's not even _my_ problem."

"I want in on what JARVIS finds, especially the ones that he deems important."

"I don't really think—"

"I do."

Sighing resignedly, Tony looked up at the ceiling, to which JARVIS replied that it had been done. "I'll let Happy know too," he added.

"Thank you." With that, Steve headed back toward the elevator. It was a good thing he had the afternoon off from SHIELD since he had a lot to get up to speed on. "Team dinner is still in effect," he called over his shoulder, just in case Tony thought otherwise. "Your attendance mandatory."

"Aye aye, Captain."

It didn't escape Steve's notice how Tony waited for him to leave the room before speaking to JARVIS again.

* * *

Despite the fact that Natasha wasn't yet back in the States, Steve called her as soon as he left Tony's workshop. She confirmed she did know about the death threats and that she was taking her own measures to examine any viable threat for herself.

In the background, Clint chimed in that she did the same for everyone on the team, which made Steve feel rather like a failure. He was the team leader, which meant that was something he should have thought of and been working on, not Natasha. He asked for her to share her intel, to which she agreed, then asked her thoughts about Tony's latest batch of threats.

"I haven't had a chance to look at them yet," she said. "Meet me on my floor at four and we can go over them."

* * *

By six o'clock, Steve was reassured that JARVIS had been correct in reporting that the latest batch of threats on Tony's life weren't serious. Between him, Natasha, Clint and Happy, they'd systematically gone through all of the incoming mail and come up empty for means and opportunity. But that didn't mean this was the end of the conversation. There was the very real danger of JARVIS or Tony's algorithm miscalculating the severity and intent of any given letter.

Unfortunately, as much as Steve wanted to run through all the mail manually, between running missions for SHIELD, trying to track down Bucky, and his regular Avengers business, he didn't have the time or energy. So, he, Clint and Natasha settled on alternating weeks sorting through the mail JARVIS catalogued as the highest threats, while at Steve's request, Happy shored up his threat analysis team… and on Tony's orders sent Fury the bill.

"It doesn't bother you?" Steve asked later that night while the team was cleaning up after dinner. Steve had grabbed a sponge and gotten to work on the dishes despite Tony insisting they had people, or a magical dishwashing appliance, for that. Steve just handed him a drying towel, which he'd reluctantly begun using.

"The threats, I mean," Steve clarified when Tony didn't immediately respond.

Tony was quiet as he dried and stacked another plate. "It used to," he finally said. "But if I tried to live my life by how they all wanted me to act, I'd hardly be living at all." He looked up to see Steve smiling lopsidedly at him and grumbled, "Shaddup."

"Did you come up with that on the spot, or did you write it down first?" Sam quipped, elbowing Steve out of the way and beginning to wash the dishes himself. "You bought, we'll clean," he explained when the supersoldier protested. Steve scowled halfheartedly at Sam, then snatched the dish towel from Tony.

The inventor was all too happy to relinquish his dish-drying duties and took a supervisor's seat at the bar top. "For the record, Steve is not rubbing off on me."

"Would it be the worst thing?" Natasha asked as she swept into the room, deposited her plate by Sam, and began putting the dry dishes back into the cupboard.

"Can we go back to talking about how people are threatening my life? It's a lot less painful."

It took everything Tony had to keep from recoiling as the entire room turned to glare at him.

"Too soon? Gottit. Well I'll be down in the workshop if you need me." And with that, he made his hasty exit.

"He really isn't worried, is he," Steve said, more a statement than a question.

"No, but with good reason," Natasha responded. "Like he said, paying attention to those sorts of things would destroy him."

It didn't escape her notice that Steve stared at the empty doorway for far longer than he needed to.

* * *

Six weeks later, Steve's phone dinged with JARVIS' weekly update. He adjusted the ice pack under his elbow—received while sparring with Sam, not on a mission—and began to page through it. The Avengers hadn't been out on a mission for 31 days, leaving the last few weeks of threat assessment unsurprisingly silent. This week was more of the same, except for one, which JARVIS had flagged as top priority.

At first read, it was generic enough: the writer was angry at Tony for destroying their career (exact reasons not listed), but there was just _something_ about the letter that kept Steve from unflagging it. There was no rhyme or reason to it, but his gut was churning at full strength and an uneasy feeling had settled into his chest. Trusting his instincts, Steve upped the priority on JARVIS' flag and sent it through to Happy.

_Doesn't seem worse than the rest. _Happy texted back thirty seconds later. Then he added, _Why?_

_I don't know. I just have a feeling,_ Steve responded.

Happy's response was almost immediate: _We're on it._

* * *

Unfortunately, Steve's instincts were correct. Three days later, a second letter arrived at the Tower—same postmark, same formatting—declaring that the author was going to enact their revenge at the Stark Gala on October 15th. Happy immediately beefed up security around the event and required metal detectors and purse searches for all the attendees.

Still, Steve couldn't shake the feeling that that wasn't going to be enough and asked Clint, Natasha and Sam to join him at the gala. Without question, they all agreed.

* * *

By eight o'clock on October 15th, the gala was in full swing. Guests were milling about, sipping at champagne and other mixed drinks, and occasionally snagging a hors d'oeuvre off the waitstaff's silver trays.

Steve was just reaching out to take the beer the bartender had fetched for him when someone grabbed his arm and spun him around. Steve's reflexes took over and he was raising his hands to fight when he recognized the face in front of him and forced his limbs to relax.

"What are you doing here?" Tony hissed. "I usually have to beg you to come to these things."

"I was bored."

"Liar." Then realization flashed ever-so-briefly in Tony's expression. "You're here because of the letter."

"So what if I am?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "Steve, that letter is hokum. Even so, Happy practically doubled the number of security here, and the suit is just on the other side of the buffet table. It's _nothing_."

Steve just smiled. "Then you don't mind if I stay close to you all night."

"If you must. But if I pull Pepper into the coat closet, I insist you wait down the hall."

"Tony..."

The inventor just shrugged. "That's the price of following me around." Then he looked at Steve's suit and nodded approvingly. "That's not off the clearance rack at Sears."

Steve fought down the instinct to smooth out his jacket and make sure his tie was centered. "No, it's not."

"I might be rubbing off on you," Tony sang with a wide grin.

Before Steve could reply, Pepper swished up in an absolutely gorgeous green gown. "You have to get ready for your speech," she clucked at Tony. Then she looked over at Steve. "You look very handsome," she added before lacing her arm in Tony's and pulling him away.

Steve grabbed his beer, which was rather lukewarm now, and followed.

"Sitrep," he said into the comm in his ear.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Clint reported from the second floor balcony where he was helping himself to a hors d'oeuvre. He'd be situated there all night, guarding his bow and Steve's shield which were hidden under the banquet table in front of him. "Bomb squad swept the venue before everyone arrived and found nothing; wait staff is clean; everyone who enters has to be wanded or patted down…" he paused to pop the tiny appetizer into his mouth.

His face immediately contorted into a grimace as the potent taste attacked his tongue. Panicked, he glanced around but apparently decided this gathering was far too nice of an occasion to just spit into his napkin. He forced himself to swallow the displeasing substance before snagging a champagne flute from another tray and downing it in one gulp.

"What the hell was that?" he spat, pulling another face as the taste continued to permeate.

"It's probably best you don't know," Natasha replied around muffled laughter.

"And you, Nat?" Steve asked, refocusing the conversation.

"All quiet down here." She was dressed in a white apron and was serving as the assistant QOS for the evening. Miniature versions of her Widow's Bites were hiding under the sleeves of her white dress shirt, and she'd stashed weapons under biometric lock throughout the room. She was stationed at the door to the kitchen and was keeping a close eye on those who came and went.

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw Tony walking back toward him. When he was in arm's reach, the inventor held out his hand, palm up. "I want a comm."

Steve pulled the extra earbud he'd stashed earlier, having expected to end up here at one point or another, out of his pocket and handed it over. Tony looked surprised—maybe he'd been expecting more of a fight—but slipped it into his ear anyway. "Thank you."

"Knock 'em dead," Clint said before the rest of the Avengers heard loud gulping.

"How many has he had?" Tony asked Steve.

"At least three, to drown out the taste of the–"

"I don't wanna know!" Clint interrupted.

Natasha said something in Russian, which Steve loosely translated into 'you need to slow down.'

"I'm throwing half of it on the fake plants," Clint countered. "But it wouldn't kill you guys to serve some non-alcoholic stuff for those of us on duty."

"Comment box is by the door," Tony quipped before Happy and Pepper walked over, neither of whom looked pleased.

"Your address," was all Pepper said before Tony scowled and trailed her back to the stage.

He was about halfway through said address when Steve heard a faint buzzing sound that quickly built in intensity. Tony must have heard it too, for he stopped speaking and searched the room for Steve, Natasha and Clint.

"What is that?" Clint snapped as he reached for the hidden gun at the small of his back.

Just then, there was an earsplitting boom and little bits of plastic shot out of the pots of the fake plants stationed around the room.

"Run!" Steve shouted as the pieces of plastic began flying toward the center of the room and knitting themselves together. Whatever the final shape was, it was without a doubt a weapon.

Steve spared a second to ensure that Happy's security team was guiding guests toward the door, before looking back at Tony, who along with Pepper, was swarmed by Happy and his best men. In a tight blob with Tony and Pepper at the center, the group quickly shuffled toward the back door, which bypassed the kitchen and led straight back alley, where an armored vehicle was waiting to take them to safety.

Steve raced to assist in whatever way he could, in the process shooting a quick glance over his shoulder to see the pieces assembling into a futuristic gun and aiming themselves in Tony's direction.

"Get down!" Natasha screamed, as she tackled the wait staff in front of her who had frozen in place.

Steve put his arms over his head to brace against whatever might emit from the plastic pieces and kept running toward Tony. "Shield!"

A split second later, his iconic weapon landed on to the ground next to him, and Steve quickly grabbed its shiny edge. In the background, he heard Clint's bow twanging into its full size, but he knew Clint couldn't yet fire at the plastic; the pieces were too small to be individually hit and if they continued shifting, he could possibly hit a guest.

But then the final plastic pieces slid into place and almost instantly Steve heard arrows slicing through the air. From the sound, they hit their target, but did little to prevent against the loud click that echoed through the room a moment later. Realizing that that hadn't come from Clint's arrows, Steve's blood ran cold. Aside from the rest of the guest who had yet to be safely evacuated, Tony, Pepper, and Happy's team were still in the room, about two feet from the door.

Steve turned and threw his shield into the plastic weapon. Given the minute effect Clint's arrows had had, he didn't expect it to do much, at most change the direction of the gun's barrel, but his shield cut neatly through the middle of the weapon, sending two halves clattering to the ground.

The shield bounced off the bottom of the mezzanine railing and returned to Steve, who slid it on his arm and assumed a battle-ready position. The two pieces of plastic fizzed and sparked on the ground, but didn't otherwise move.

He held his position until the far door banged open and three people in full bomb suits shuffled in. "We need this area clear," they ordered.

Given that this was far out of his area of expertise, Steve acquiesced their request and helped lead a few of the remaining partygoers out of the ballroom.

* * *

A combination of Clint's arrows and Steve's shield had rendered the weapon truly useless, leaving little for the bomb techs to do. The pieces were then boxed up and taken to SHIELD to be analyzed by their best techs. Thankfully, no one had been harmed, save a few bruises from being quickly escorted from the ballroom.

The story was picked up by the late night news and soon everyone was clamoring to know who had tried to attack Tony Stark. Unfortunately, there were no identifying features on the parts of weapon or the plants the pieces had shot out from. JARVIS and the local police were tracing the path of the plants from the third-party design company to the ballroom, but hadn't been able to figure out how the shards of plastic had ended up in the pots or how they'd been triggered.

They got their answer two days later, when the Daily Bugle received a letter from none other than Justin Hammer, claiming responsibility for the death of Tony Stark. Apparently he'd been so sure he'd be successful, he'd mailed it in advance. SHIELD descended on his jail cell to figure out how he'd managed to pull this off, and shortly after he was moved to isolation in the closest super-max. He would be more closely monitored than before and would be denied anything that resembled an interface to the web or that could be used to build one.

"But how did you know?" Tony asked Steve at breakfast the next morning.

Steve just shrugged and took another bite of his cereal. "I don't know. It just didn't feel right."

"Well I can't calibrate my algorithm to your feelings so I need something more definitive."

"I don't know, Tony," Steve said, not hiding his exasperation as well as he should have. He understood Tony's intention but his answer hadn't changed in the sixty-two times Tony had asked him since last night. "It just felt different than the rest."

"You're unbelievable." Tony took the last bite of his toast then stood up and walked his dish over to the sink. "Thank you though," he said, back still turned while he loaded his plate into the dishwasher. "For not listening to me."

"You're welcome. And if I ever figure out how to quantify how I knew, I'll be sure to let you know."

Tony grinned then walked out of the room. He had a long few days ahead of him updating his algorithm for the keys in Hammer's letters and working with Happy and his team to figure out how they could prevent something like last night's incident from happening at future SI events.

* * *

**Up next: Steve goes down in the middle of a battle. It's up to Tony to keep the damage from worsening.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	10. Steve: Sound

The mission was running so smoothly, something was guaranteed to go horribly wrong.

"Now you've jinxed us," Clint Barton snapped, surprising Tony who hadn't realized he'd said that aloud. He then fired another arrow at an approaching four-foot-tall animatronic pill bug and sent it grinding to a permanent stop.

"There's no such thing," Tony retorted as he took out the two creeping up behind Clint.

The archer whirled around, bow at the ready, but slowly lowered it when he realized the threat had been eliminated. He waved his thanks to Tony, then clipped a line to his belt and jumped off the side of the building. "If something happens," he shouted on his way down, "that's on you."

"Can we focus on the actual threat at hand?" Steve panted over the comms, barely audible over a series of sharp rings in the background.

"Bugs contained on the north, east and west," Hill said. Laid up by a badly sprained ankle, she was running point in the mobile van a few blocks away. Thanks to Tony's modifications, she had full view of the fight and was proving instrumental in keeping the battle contained. "Thor is wrapping up the south border, but there's a horde down on 6th that needs some attention."

"On it," Rhodey replied and Tony was quick to follow his friend's lead.

While the animatronics were bulletproof, which is why the Avengers had been called in in the first place, they seemed particularly susceptible to well placed repulsor blasts, especially once Clint and Natasha (just a hair faster than JARVIS) had figured out their weak points. Tony and Rhodey made quick work of the escaping bugs and were just about to figure out their next priority when things started going downhill.

"Cap!" Clint cried and Tony winced as the call reverberated through his helmet. JARVIS responded by turning down the volume while Clint demanded that Steve answer him.

Tony wasn't initially worried—Clint might have called out something that could have saved Steve's life—but the comms were concerningly silent.

"Talk to us, Hawkeye," Tony ordered when Steve didn't respond. On the right side of the HUD, JARVIS began pinging Steve's earbud and plotting his last known location.

"I don't know. He just dropped like a rock." Clint's words were punctuated by deep, gulping breaths, like he was rapidly making his way down the side of the building.

"Sir, there is some sort of interference in Captain Rogers' vicinity."

"What kind of interference?"

"A high-pitched sound."

Tony squinted at the sound waves JARVIS had thrown onscreen, noting the peak hertz was way above what most adults could hear. Their resident supersoldier though, who could hear way into 18 kHz, was probably another story. "He can hear it, can't he?"

It took Clint a minute before he said, "Looks that way. We need to get him out of here."

Tony spared Rhodey a questioning look and he responded by motioning for Tony to take off. With a grateful nod, Tony launched himself into the air and headed toward the beacon JARVIS had plotted.

It took him less than a minute to arrive at Steve's location. As he flew around the corner, Tony found Clint kneeling on the ground beside Steve, who was curled up in the fetal position with his hands clamped over his ears. His face was scrunched in obvious pain, his eyes no more than slits and lips curled back to reveal a full row of tightly-clenched teeth. Clint was shouting as loud as he could and spreading his hands over Steve's.

Suddenly, the HUD was awash with Steve's vitals, none of which were in a normal range.

"I recommend removing him from the area," JARVIS said.

"Yeah but where?" Tony snapped back. "I don't know where it's coming from."

Then he saw the rivulets of blood leaking from where Steve's fingers were plastered to his head and knew he had to do something fast.

"J?" he asked, while revisiting the sound wave diagrams that had been relegated to the top corner of the HUD. "Is this sound going to fry my brain?"

"My sensors indicate not. The sound is far too high-pitched for normal ears to pick up."

"Okay then." Tony popped up the face plate with a preemptive wince, and exhaled in relief when he remained standing.

"As I told you sir, too high for normal ears."

Tony didn't acknowledge his AI and instead turned to Clint. "Watch out, birdbrain." Without waiting, Tony threw out his hands, palms facing out, and the suit shot off of his body. Clint barely bent out of the way before the pieces started assembling around Steve, even going so far as to pull his hands away from his head in order to get the gauntlets on correctly.

"Make do with what you have," Tony instructed JARVIS, who carefully arranged some of the interlocking pieces so the suit fully encased the slightly taller Steve. "Now how 'bout some classical? He seems like a _Moonlight Sonata_ fan."

He had no idea what JARVIS played, but a few minutes later, the shoulders of the suit visibly relaxed.

"Tony?" the suit's metallic voice asked. It was odd hearing the suit speak with someone else's inflection but the voice was undeniably Steve's.

"Yeah, how you doing in there?"

"Better… thanks." Even through the suit's filter, Steve's voice was strained and thin.

"J?"

"Vital signs normalizing. Scanning for signs of damage."

"Damage?!"

Before JARVIS could respond to Steve, Natasha came on the comms. "I have him." There was a harsh thump, then she continued, "it should be okay for Cap to take off the suit."

"Let's not go that far," Tony cautioned. "JARVIS, dim music, see how Steve does."

There was a tense silence, in which JARVIS was presumably doing as Tony was instructed. "Down to 10%," the suit reported in JARVIS' decidedly mechanical voice.

"Steve?"

There was a flash across the exterior of the suit before Steve spoke up. "I'm okay."

"Go for broke, J."

The faceplate popped open, revealing Steve's pale and pinched face. The team waited with baited breath, but thankfully, Steve's expression didn't change once his ears were exposed to the noise of the surrounding battle.

"I think it safe to say you're done for the day," Tony stated, taking in the dried blood on both sides of Steve's head, caked in rivulets from where his gloves had torn at his scalp.

"I'm inclined to agree," Clint chimed in.

"And if Birdbrain agrees, you know it's serious."

"Really, I'm fine," Steve protested. As if to prove his point, his hand reached down for the suit's manual release.

"Uh uh uh." Tony made a sharp gesture with his left hand and JARVIS immediately locked the elbow joint of the suit, effectively keeping Steve from reaching the manual release. Before Steve could protest, Tony barreled forward, "We need to make sure you weren't conditioned to kill the Prime Minister of Malaysia."

Steve looked so confused it would have been comical, had his skin not been one small shade above the stark white building behind him. Clint did snicker, but his expression quickly sobered as Steve fixed him with a dark look.

"He's right, Steve," Bruce said. "We need to make sure the sound didn't damage your brain. I've already called the medbay. They're ready to do a full workup."

"Guys, this is really unn—"

Tony gestured with his hand and Iron Man's faceplate snapped closed. "To SHIELD, please, JARVIS."

Inside the suit, Steve protested wildly but Iron Man just lifted into the air and flew away.

Once it was out of sight, Tony fiddled with the bracelets on his wrists then raised his arms in the air. Less than a minute later, a new suit came flying into view and assembled around him.

"You should go with him," Clint said as a member of the local PD called in an assist from his squad. As it was only a few blocks over, the archer quickly nocked a new arrow then headed toward the distress call. "You know how Cap gets in hospitals. The rest of us will finish up here."

Tony nodded. "Call if you need help," he added before he blasted off.

* * *

"Really, I'm fine," Steve repeated for the umpteenth time. It had been five hours since he'd been forcibly removed from the battlefield and forty minutes since he'd been released from SHIELD medical. Thankfully, all his scans had come back negative, which left the team cautiously optimistic that their leader was truly fine. The doctors couldn't find a good reason to make him stay for observation, but they were sure to drive home the fact that Steve should return to the hospital if anything started feeling amiss. Dr. Baker must have been new, since he wasn't aware there was a snowball's chance in hell of Steve coming back once the discharge papers were signed.

The entire trip back to the Tower, Tony and Bruce kept sneaking glances in Steve's direction; they were quick enough that a normal person probably wouldn't have noticed, but despite the dull ache in his head, Steve was aware of every one. On one hand, his teammates' concern was endearing; on the other, it'd only been half an hour and they were already bordering on smothering. Steve had caught a glimpse his complexion as he'd walked out of the hospital on his own recognizance, and knew that he was paler than usual, but he really did feel fine. Today's incident wasn't worth the deep lines etched into his teammates' faces.

One elevator ride later and Steve was lying on the couch in the common area of the Tower with a truly impressive number of bottles surrounding him—water, Gatorade, Powerade, Vitamin Water, Pedialyte, you name it, it was sitting in front of him. Tony was perched at the breakfast bar, keeping tabs on clean-up via his tablet, which he refused to beam to Steve's, while Bruce sat in the far recliner, pretending to read a medical journal. It didn't escape Steve's notice that, every few minutes, Bruce kept having to turn back to the page he'd just flipped.

As much as he wanted to deny it, Steve was struggling to stay awake, and since the other two were busy, he decided to close his eyes for a minute. When he opened them again, Natasha and Clint were leaning over the back of the couch and staring at him.

"I've seen corpses with better color," Natasha then said, ever sensitive, as she grabbed the Gatorade bottle on the side table, loosened the lid, and offered it to Steve. "Drink."

Steve wrinkled his nose, but Natasha held the bottle out more forcefully. He'd seen that look many times before and knew it would be better to just cave. "Yes, mom," he grumbled as he pushed himself into an upright position and took a few sips.

"He must be feeling better," she called to Tony. "He's getting snippy."

"How's the fight going?" Steve asked as he set the Gatorade bottle back on the table.

Clint hurdled the back of the couch and situated himself at Steve's feet. "All the bugs are dead," he reported. "Fury's already called in Damage Control and Thor hung back to help clear the major streets." He looked over at Steve and one eye narrowed warily. "Fury wants to talk to you when you're up and running again. I told him you'd be down for at least the next two days."

When Steve opened his mouth to protest, Clint grinned evilly. "Argue and JARVIS and I can make it three."

Steve's jaw snapped closed as he glared at Clint, who just rested his chin in his hand and drummed his upper lip in mock contemplation. "I vaguely recall someone doing the same to me a few months back." He looked over at Steve, his expression the picture of innocence. "Who was that I wonder?"

"Someone who's currently regretting it, I'm sure," Tony said as he gathered his tablet from the bar and walked into the living area. "You know, there's one test the doctors didn't run."

Steve had no idea what test that was, but based on Tony's demeanor, it wasn't medically relevant. His patience already stretched thin, he tried to snatch the tablet away, but Tony had already jabbed at something with his thumb.

The opening riff to _Relax_ blared through the speakers a beat later. Not even Clint dared to laugh; in fact, if Steve wasn't mistaken, everyone leaned in a little to see how he would react. He wasn't sure what they were expecting, but he just covered his ears as his brain throbbed in tempo to the song.

"Feeling homicidal?" Tony asked as he motioned for JARVIS to turn the volume down.

The glare Clint had received earlier paled in comparison to the one Steve fixed Tony with now. "Yes," he ground out with a great deal of effort.

"At someone other than me?"

"No."

Visibly relieved, Tony punched at his tablet again and the music ceased. "Just making sure. But really Steve, _Zoolander_? Is it even on your list?"

"There's time for that another day," Natasha said, leaning over and tapping the Gatorade bottle again. "Right now he needs rest."

Steve glowered at her but took another long pull of the electrolyte-laced beverage. "I could watch a movie," he said thinly. He knew Natasha meant well but his head was hurting worse after Tony's song stunt and he wasn't in the mood for more coddling.

To his surprise, Natasha's expression shut down. "Suit yourself," she said as she headed into the kitchen.

It took Steve's brain longer than it should have to compute what had happened. Confused, he looked over to see matching expressions on Tony, Clint, and Bruce's faces. "Did I miss something?" he asked, scrubbing at his eyes as they began to ache with ferocity.

Clint started to shake his head but then realization dawned on his face. "Shit. Yeah, you should listen to her."

"Why?" Tony questioned. "What does she know?"

Clint just shook his head. "It's not my story to tell."

The room looked up as Natasha returned from the kitchen with an absolutely massive bowl of cereal. She hesitated behind the couch, like she wasn't sure she was wanted, but Clint motioned for her to join them.

"I just know how sounds can drain you," she began, the words tumbling from her mouth like she was worried she wouldn't get them all out. She shoveled an overflowing spoonful of Lucky Charms into her mouth and continued, "but you're a supersoldier so it might be different. A TV show might not be off the table, if you're up to it. 40-ish minutes, no hour-and-a-half specials."

She was rambling now and looked half a second away from bolting from the room. Before Steve could act, Clint had reached over the back of the couch and snagged Natasha's elbow, keeping her in place. She could have easily broken his grip but just clamped her jaw closed and looked anxiously around the room.

"I think we should watch a TV show," Steve said. Then, he shifted so he was sitting completely upright and patted the newly created space between him and Clint. When Natasha continued to look warily at him, Steve just nodded and repeated his motion until Natasha exhaled loudly, steeled her expression, and hopped lithely over the back of the couch, somehow without spilling any of her cereal.

Tony, thankfully, didn't comment on her uncharacteristic show of vulnerability, and instead asked, "Any suggestions?"

When no one else spoke, Natasha rolled her eyes at all of them and muttered, "Something that doesn't require a lot of brainpower. Food Network, HGTV, nothing too serious."

"JARVIS, queue up the Food Network," Tony ordered. "Uncensored _Kitchen Nightmares_ for some true laughs."

The projector hummed to life, and a second later, the intro to Gordon Ramsey's show filled the screen.

While the scene was being set, Steve gently laid his hand on Natasha's knee, being careful to project his motions in case she wanted to pull away.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Though her expression didn't change, she nodded and continued digging into her cereal. In typical Natasha fashion though, she twirled her spoon purposefully between bites, to remind them that she could dismember them at least seven different ways with it and not break a sweat.

As the show wore on, Steve found that Natasha was right about how draining his experience was, and despite his insistence that he could have made it through a movie, he drifted off less than ten minutes in.

When he woke up, it was nighttime and he was covered in a thin but soft blanket. Blinking sleep from his eyes, he looked around the room. Natasha had moved slightly to her left in order to fully utilize the recliner and Clint was sprawled on the floor beneath her. Further down, Tony was stretched out on the other end of the sectional, just out of reach of Bruce, who was passed out on the loveseat.

Steve wanted nothing more than to take a picture of the peaceful scene, but his eyes were quickly getting heavy. He committed the picture to memory as best he could, potentially for drawing later on, then allowed himself to slip back to sleep.

* * *

**And that is the story of how Steve ends up with the larger and better designed earpieces (à la _Civil War)_, instead of the smaller (invisible) ones seen in _Avengers_. **

**This chapter is a little schmoopier than the rest and features more of the team, but it feels well-deserved after all the toil I've put everyone through. Natasha surprises everyone (myself included) by demanding some focus on the last scene. Hope you enjoyed it all the same!**

**Up next: Tony and Steve are trapped in a collapsing building with various injuries hindering their escape.**

**Thanks for reading! See you next week!**


	11. Steve and Tony: Collapsing Building

**Warning: This chapter starts off with half of a strong curse word. I usually shy away from that sort of language but I felt like this situation warranted it. Since Tony is coming out of unconsciousness however, he doesn't hear the full thing, so a milder version can be substituted if you choose.**

**Thanks for your support throughout this fic!**

* * *

"'ck."

Tony snapped back into consciousness as his shoulder smashed into something solid. Someone cursed loudly, then hands were on him, pulling him back upright and tugging him forward.

Instinctively, Tony resisted, having woken up in one too many unfriendly places in his life. The good news was his tactic worked and the hands released him. The bad news was there was nothing stopping his descent to the floor. Pain exploded in his lower leg as he crashed into concrete and his vision washed out in white.

The next time he came to, he was upright again. His arm was draped over someone's shoulder and he was being tugged along at a snail's pace. Now, the pain in his leg was more apparent and it lanced up his shin with each step.

"St'p 'ighting me."

Tony recognized that voice. Steve.

Tony lifted his eyelashes just enough to see a massive amount of red, some dark, some light, trailing down the side of… Steve's face. Tony's eyes shot open, and within a second, he'd taken in the massive wound on the right side of Steve's head, his almost grey pallor, the fact Steve hadn't noticed he was awake, and the fact that the supersoldier was basically carrying him.

Just then, Steve stumbled, sending Tony crashing into a wall he hadn't realized was on his right. He was awake enough to catch himself in an upright-ish position and keep his leg from being reinjured.

Steve either didn't notice or didn't care, since he shoved his right hand into Tony's left shoulder, leaned off to the left, and threw up.

"Steve," Tony hissed softly, not wanting to frighten the supersoldier.

Steve just heaved twice more before wiping his mouth on sleeve and turning back to Tony. It took a minute for recognition to leak into his confused stare.

"Y're 'wake," Steve slurred so badly Tony almost didn't understand what he'd said. And if Tony hadn't known something was seriously wrong from the massive amount of blood on the side of Steve's head, he sure did now. Steve never slurred. He could be disoriented, mumbling, and confused, but he never ever slurred his words.

"You can let me go," Tony continued, tapping on the hand pinning him to the wall.

Steve dropped his head in what Tony assumed was a nod then slowly pulled his hand away. As Tony shifted his stance to keep his weight off his injured left leg, he realized he didn't know exactly what was wrong with said leg. He looked down and immediately regretted it. His calf was braced by two long pieces of metal and tied in place with what looked like the remains of a jacket. His pant leg along the shin was ripped and bloody and Tony might have even seen a glimpse of white if he shifted just right.

Now that his brain had seen it, he could think of nothing but his injury. His stomach churned but he clenched his jaw and focused on keeping his lunch where it was.

"What happened?" he asked, pointedly looking back up at Steve's pale and bloody face.

"Splosion." Steve sucked in a deep breath through clenched teeth then pushed himself off the wall. "We need… ta go."

Without asking, he slung Tony's arm over his shoulder and continued hobbling along. This time, Tony tried to carry as much of his weight as possible to both limit injury to his leg and to help Steve, who was having trouble walking in a straight line.

As time drew on, Tony realized he had no recollection of how he'd gotten here. He debated asking, but in the end decided it would be distract Steve, who needed all his attention focused on… wherever they were heading.

_That_ was a question probably worth asking; the other could wait until they were safe.

"Where are we going?"

"Roof."

"Why?"

"Buil'in's… 'omin' 'own."

It was then that Tony heard the ominous creaking behind them; it might have been his imagination but the one wall might have shifted a little too.

They made it about thirty more yards before Tony felt a spasm racing up Steve's back. He quickly disentangled himself from Steve, giving the soldier time to crash into the wall an arm's length away and empty his stomach again.

"Steve..." was all Tony could say. He wanted to do something to ease his friend's distress but was functionally useless in this empty space. If the building was really coming down, there wasn't time to delve into where and how exactly Steve was injured. Even if he could get a straight answer out of supersoldier, they wouldn't be able to fix anything until they were safe.

What Tony could do though was find something to help him walk so Steve could just worry about himself. He looked around at the barren hallway, finding nothing immediately obvious to use as a walking stick. That hadn't stopped him before though. He limped over to the nearby doorway and inspected the door jamb. It too had suffered in the explosion and was looking rather unsteady. Tony couldn't pull it off the wall with his hands so he turned and hit it with the point of his elbow. The wood came free with a loud crack and was thankfully in a large enough piece to serve as a cane.

Tony then hobbled over to the fragment, braced himself against the wall, and leaned down to pick it up. His stomach lurched when his head moved below his stomach but Tony clenched his jaw and swallowed hard, unwilling to give in. By the time Tony was upright again, Steve was slowly scanning the hallway, his right hand still splayed against the wall for support.

"'ony," Steve rasped, staring for a long time at the space Tony was occupying before recognition flashed again.

That was when Tony noticed Steve was carrying his shield but that he wasn't in uniform. He didn't need to look down at himself to know he wasn't in the Iron Man suit, and from his earlier glance at his leg, he knew he wasn't in his undersuit either. So they weren't on a mission. But then why did Steve have his shield?

"Roof," Steve said, reaching out his shielded arm for Tony.

Tony quickly hobbled over but refused Steve's offer to help him walk. "You just focus on you, big guy," he said, proving his point by passing Steve with remarkably little pain, all things considered.

With two large steps, Steve was once again beside Tony though he'd lost at least two more shades of color in his face. His right hand dragged along the wall at shoulder height, a clear indication that it was a major factor in keeping him upright.

"Maybe I should take the shield," Tony suggested. Light as it was, it was still heavy enough that Steve would have to compensate for it. Handing it over might help him balance better.

Tony was expecting way more of an argument: a rough '_I'm fine_,' a smirk, and a _'no way'_, Steve shaking off Tony's concern—any of the above. Instead, Steve just stumbled to a stop and silently held out his shielded left arm.

"Oookay then." Tony shifted his weight to his right leg, slipped the makeshift walking stick under his right arm, then used both hands to pry the shield off Steve's arm. "You know, I was really expecting more of a fight."

"Y'u can…see straight."

Well, shit.

Tony slid the shield onto his left arm, feeling a sense of responsibility settle on his shoulders. He slipped the walking stick back into his hand then led the way down the dimly lit corridor.

* * *

"What's the plan now?" Tony asked, staring at what remained of the stairwell. Both upper and lower flights had collapsed and the rubble and beams were far too much for Steve to lift in his current condition. "Other side of the building? Chance the elevator?"

Steve grunted and began stumbling around the glass-walled foyer in an oddly methodical pattern. He crashed into the adjacent floor-to-ceiling window, lifted his head like he was looking _through_ the glass and wasn't just confused, then turned back to Tony.

"No!" Tony shook his head with a wince, having figured out what Steve was suggesting. "We're at least twenty stories up!" It was just a guess, based on what he could see around him. They were still in Manhattan, that much was for sure, but they were damn high off the ground.

"No choice."

As if on cue, the ceiling rumbled and the lights began to flash.

"There has to be another way!"

As Steve shook his head, what little color he had left drained from his face and he had to swallow hard before slurring, "'s coming down."

He flipped around so his back was leaning heavily on the window then held up his left arm, like the shield was still on it. "'url up," he mumbled, tucking his head slightly and pulling his other arm in. "'egs to 'hest. 'on't leggo."

Was he trying to explain to Tony how to not be shattered into a million pieces on impact? Tony remembered seeing footage from Steve's leap out of SHIELD HQ two years ago but it hadn't made the list of things he wanted to try himself.

"You're out of your mind." Tony stumbled over to the stairwell and began looking at what exactly was in the way. "We can do something over here. We have to be able to move one of these beams—"

"Tony." Incredibly, Steve's voice was steady and firm. Tony looked over his shoulder to see the supersoldier still ghostly pale but wearing an expression that was clearer than it had been since Tony had regained consciousness. "'_u_ have to."

Oh, _hell_ no. Tony'd missed that little caveat the first time around. "I'm not leaving you!" he snapped. "Now come over here and—"

Then Steve's hand was on his arm and it took everything Tony had to not throw him off, knowing how off-balance Steve already was.

"'ll be fine. Awnings," Steve explained while pointing out the window. Tony was sure he was telling the truth—about the existence of the awnings, not that Steve would survive that fall. That he was 100% sure was a lie—but wasn't willing to spend the time to look for himself. He ducked his head to look under a set of beams and had to grab to them as the floor shifted.

Steve's grip tightened on his arm. "Hafta go."

"We'll go together then," Tony snapped, taking the shield off his arm and holding it out to Steve. "Cos I'm sure as shit not leaving you."

The corner of Steve's mouth might have lifted slightly in a smile. Or Tony was seeing things. Both were possible at this point.

He was 100% sure he heard Steve mumble something about a 'stubborn ass' as he slid the shield back on his arm.

"That's redundant," Tony retorted before limping over to the window. He peered down and, sure enough, there were a series of multi-colored awnings cascading down the side of the building. "So how are we doing this?"

He didn't get a reply. Instead, he was bodily lifted into Steve's arms, bridal style, with the shield wrapped around the outside of his body. Then they were moving back a few steps and Tony instinctively curled up, trying to get as much of his body as he could behind the shield. _Knees to chest, don't let go._ There wasn't enough room for all of him and his makeshift leg brace behind the shield so he wrapped his arms around Steve's chest, which had the added benefit of keeping the soldier closer to the shield as well.

Then they were racing forward, Steve's steps certain and thankfully not unsteady. Tony saw the window coming out of the corner of his eye and pulled his limbs in as close as they would go.

They crashed through the window, the shield taking the brunt of the impact, and then they were falling.

Tony found himself praying for a suit but he didn't have his bracelets, and thanks to a promise to Pepper, he had removed his implants along with the reactor. All he could do was pull his legs in tight, bundled tightly between Steve and the shield, and hope. Maybe even pray.

They crashed through an orange awning, which slowed them down considerably. Unfortunately, it also tore Tony out of Steve's grip.

"Ste—" Tony shouted but the wind tore the last syllable out of his mouth. Now, he was falling on his own without Steve's shield to protect him from the upcoming collision with the green awning beneath him.

Then metal arms were below him. They decelerated until their owner was falling at the same speed as Tony before they grabbed him and slowly accelerated upward. Tony looked over to see familiar glimpses of red, white, and blue.

Rhodey.

"Where's Steve?" Tony screamed to be heard over the wind rushing by his ears. He frantically scanned the sky, twisting in Rhodey's grip. "We gotta get Steve."

"Sam's got him," Rhodes said as he tightened his grip around Tony.

Tony trusted Rhodey with his life but after all he and Steve had just been through, he needed to see Steve for himself. He looked over Rhodey's shoulder to see an equally familiar set of wings sailing toward them, a limp body in tow.

"He's hurt bad," Tony shouted to Rhodey. "Head wound."

"Ambulance is already on its way."

Rhodey and Tony landed about ten seconds before Sam and Steve did, and Tony scrambled out of Rhodey's grip like an overgrown toddler. Unfortunately, he'd temporarily forgotten about his injured leg and would have face-planted had Rhodey not caught him by the back of his collar. Undeterred by that minor interruption, Tony was standing on his own accord by the time Sam landed.

Sam lowered the unconscious and heavily-bleeding Steve to the ground, yanked the shield off his arm, and immediately began taking his vitals. "He's not breathing," Sam stated as he began chest compressions. "Put some pressure on that wound," he ordered between counts. "Rhodey, where's the ambulance?"

"Three minutes out."

Tony knelt down, ripped off his shirt—there wasn't much of it left after the explosion anyway—wadded it up, and pressed it against the side of Steve's head. He winced as he felt things that should have been solid shift slightly. It should have hurt like hell but Steve didn't so much wince.

In the bright sunlight, Tony could see the large amount of red seeping quickly into his shirt, as if ignorant to the pressure he was applying. "Don't you do this to me, you asshole," he shouted, smacking the ground beside Steve's head.

Then he heard the sirens closing in and shortly after he was being pushed out of the way. The paramedics were saying things, asking questions—which Rhodey and Sam were answering since Tony'd lost the ability to make his mouth say words—inserting things into Steve's arms, and strapping him to a board. Then someone was pulling him away—asking _him_ questions, tending to his leg. By the time Tony looked back, Steve, Sam, and the second ambulance were gone.

"We have to go," Tony said, trying to crawl to his feet, but the team of paramedics held him down.

"Sir, you're injured as well," they were saying, as Rhodey—still in Iron Patriot gear, but with his face plate up—intervened. He swiped their hands away and pressed his against Tony's shoulder instead.

"Tony," he then said, leaning over his friend.

_When had he lain down?_

"Steve's in the best hands possible. You have a badly broken leg that needs to be looked it. Let them do their job."

When Tony opened his mouth to protest, Rhodey sighed and retracted his right gauntlet. He then pulled the comm from his ear and inserted it into Tony's. It was obviously tuned into Sam's, for Tony immediately heard the sounds of the other ambulance, including the paramedics' attempts to stabilize Steve.

"Now will you let them do their job?" Rhodey asked, drawing Tony back to the present and his stabbing, aching, agonizing leg.

"Only if they take me to the same hospital."

The paramedic examining Tony's leg looked up, his expression deadly serious. "Not going to be a problem, sir."

* * *

"Stubborn ass. I'll give you a stubborn ass. A stubborn ass is someone who has a massive skull fracture but who worries about the guy with the small leg break. Not once did he try to stem his own bleeding—no! But he makes a brace for the guy with the minor compound fracture of the left tibia!"

Steve winced as the words assaulted his aching brain. Unfortunately, they continued to wash over him until his brain picked up on his body's hints and began to tune them out... which left his brain more capacity to notify him that it felt like it was being shattered into a thousand pieces and catapulted into at least eight different rooms. Also, someone was driving a jackhammer directly into his right temple.

"You back with us now?"

_DoIhavetobe?_

"No." _Sam._ "But since you just did the worst human Humpty Dumpty impression I've ever seen, I'm taking the liberty of controlling your pain meds. From the scowl on your face, you're due for another dose."

Something warm flooded his veins and the jackhammer _finally _stopped. The scattered, lost feeling persisted, but in the absence of the more glaring pain, Steve chanced opening one eye. It took a bit for him to focus but he eventually made out a Sam-shaped blob in the near distance.

"_I'll give you a stubborn ass…"_

That was Tony's voice, but he wasn't in Steve's line of sight. And he was far too tired to try to open his other eye.

Sam grinned and tapped the white blob beside him. "Tony's recording, once Happy made him catch eight interrupted back at the Tower. To be played on repe—"

* * *

The next time Steve woke, his head hurt a lot less. He could open his eyes without any problem and focus on the ceiling above him. He might have even tried sitting up until the effort of lifting his head left pain lancing up his neck.

"You're awake."

"Huh?" was all Steve could force out. Then something was at his lips, cold and wet, and he gratefully accepted. Ice slid down his sore throat, soothing the previously unknown ache.

"Just so we're clear, we're having another very serious discussion when your skull is in one piece again, since the first one obviously didn't stick." Tony paused briefly, then continued, "I might even bring in Coulson. Depends on how thick your newly repaired skull is."

Why did Tony sound so upset.

With way less effort than before, Steve cracked one eye open and saw the inventor sitting next to Steve's bed, his casted leg propped up by Steve's feet.

"I'm supposed to keep it elevated," he said. "I hope you don't mind."

"'o."

Tony's expression sobered and his hand reached for something out of Steve's line of sight. "You're slurring again. I don't like it when you slur."

Speaking would lead to more slurring so Steve just lifted his right hand and did his best to form the 'ok' sign.

Tony snorted and leaned his neck back against the top of his chair. "You're unbelievable."

Steve tried to lift the corners of his mouth but wasn't sure if he was successful.

"You're delusional too." Then a hand was on his arm, mindful of the IV stuck there. "And before you drift off again, you should know you can't leave this bed for a whole week."

Steve was pretty sure he managed a sound of protest but Tony shook his head, unrepentant. "I know, I know. Mr. Fitness, whatever will you do? Remember that in the future next time you decide to get your head caved in." Then he paused his tirade and really looked at Steve. "But don't worry. If you want, I'll have you transferred to the Tower."

Too tired to form words, Steve dropped his head against his chest.

"Done deal."

Tony must have pressed the button on Steve's IV, since warmth spread up through his arm again and it was becoming increasingly harder to stay focused. "Rest, Steve," he then said. "I got you."

* * *

**Only three more chapters after this. ****Up next, Steve goes to bat for Tony during a ****post-Ultron ****press conference.**

**Thanks for all your support! I'd love to know what you thought!**


	12. Tony: Post-Ultron Press Conference

**This chapter is a little shorter than the rest, but I don't want to draw it out for the sake of the word count.**

**Thanks for your wonderful comments on the last chapter!**

* * *

Post-Ultron was a difficult time in Tony's life. SI stock had taken a drastic hit, as it did every time the Avengers had what the media dubbed an 'unsuccessful mission'. Sure, they'd saved most of a country but they'd lost a lot of lives in the process. Unfortunately, the latter was what received the most media cycles.

His name and picture, superimposed next to Ultron and the damage it'd done, were everywhere. His PR team was working overtime but was hardly putting a dent in the mountains of interview, photo and sound bite requests, and other various approvals. Angry letters and threats were pouring in, still handled by Happy and his team, but more and more were making it to Tony as the severity level increased.

The moment the last Sokovian had been helped off the helicarriers, Fury had brought in Damage Control then evacuated the remaining Avengers and dispersed them around the world. With no leads on Banner, Thor had returned to Asgard to make sense of his vision, Natasha and Clint had been sent on a slew of back-to-back missions, and Steve began floating between different cities, helping wherever he could. Wanda had stayed in Sokovia to bury her brother and assist with rebuilding efforts, but she was scheduled to move to New York at the end of the year to begin training with the Avengers.

All eight of them (Pietro included) were being assigned their fair share of fault, but it was Tony who was prominently in the public eye, and who therefore was taking the lion's share of the blame. After his last outing where he had not very politely asked the paparazzi thronging around his car to get out his way, he'd been advised to stay in until this all blew over. He'd done so, with the full intention of throwing his attention into SI, which he'd been somewhat neglecting as of late, but then Pepper asked him to not call into any meetings either. Being the beautiful human that she was, she phrased it a lot more kindly—even made it sound like she was giving him time off—but he knew it was so that she could run damage control with their investors.

Past him would have loved this freedom, but future him couldn't stay focused on the array of armor parts in front of him. His mind kept drifting to the clean-up efforts he was funding or what was happening at the office.

He cursed and hurled his screwdriver across the room, leaving a gash in the once dark wall. He'd just wanted to help people. To save lives. To keep aliens from invading again. To stop a war before it started.

The last thought left a sour taste in his mouth, reminding him far too much of the weaponized helicarriers SHIELD via Hydra had almost successfully launched with him as one of the targets. He swallowed hard to rid his mouth of the stench. His plan was different, he told himself. He'd only be protecting from the sky and not from the ground.

A special news bulletin flashed on Tony's work table, pulling him from his brooding. Ready to be distracted from his own thoughts, Tony spread his fingers apart to enlarge the video. Only then did he see the byline: _Captain America Opens Up About Ultron._

Why had he not been told?

Before Tony could give that too much thought, onscreen, Steve was stepping up to a podium, dressed to the nines in a suit even Tony approved of. His hair was gelled back slightly, up and away from his face, and there was something about his walk that generated a split second of silence from everyone in attendance.

It seemed like a regular press conference, though the lack of SI signage meant it hadn't been coordinated by Pepper. Tony had bets on Fury, knowing how hard the man had pushed for the Avengers back in 2012.

Steve readjusted his microphone, cleared his throat, then said, "I have a statement to make and will not be taking questions after." The audience groaned, but straightened up and pointed their cameras and recording devices at Steve all the same. "I'm sure you've seen the news from the past few weeks," he began, his eyes glued to the notecards in his hands.

The crowd leaned forward, waiting for him to continue, but Steve had seemingly frozen. Something flashed briefly over his face before he looked out over the crowd and lowered the cards to rest on the podium.

Tony had seen that expression often enough to know that somewhere, a scriptwriter was about to have a coronary; Steve was going off-script.

"A lot of you have formed opinions about what we should and shouldn't have done," he continued, much more confidently than before. "Most of you are right. But a lot of you are wrong too." The crowd buzzed and a few reporters looked at each other uncomfortably.

"You're blaming Tony Stark for Ultron and that's not entirely fair. When you've seen the things we have, done the things we've done, it changes you. Makes you worried about the next big threat. We dealt with aliens a few years ago, and as a result, we have entire departments preparing us for what might happen next. If you're not aware, they haven't come up with much. We have no idea what else is out there."

The crowd buzzed again but Steve held up his hand. "Ultron was designed to protect us—all of us—from the next attack. From whatever else came through that wormhole. _Without_ the need for human intervention. Unfortunately, it took its job a bit too seriously."

A particularly determined reporter shot to his feet. "Captain, are you making light of the incident in Sokovia?"

Steve's face darkened. "Of course not. I'm aware of every life that was lost that day, or any time we suit up for that matter. It takes its toll on all of us, whether you see it or not." He took a breath, visibly calming himself down, before continuing. "What I came here to say is this: the blame for Ultron does not rest entirely on Tony Stark; all of us share it in some way or another.

"If we'd been faster, if we'd realized what it was after sooner, maybe we could have saved more people, and we'll carry that with us for the rest of our lives. But the idea that we need to be protected from whatever else is out there isn't one we can easily dismiss. We need people who can _prepare _us for what's coming next—people who can think ahead and see what the rest of us can't. Jane Foster and Helen Cho are two of these individuals. Tony Stark is another.

"I'm not here to tell you what to think or how to feel—there are a lot of questions and confusion and demands that, despite our best efforts, we can't accommodate. But what I can do is stand up here and ask you to at least try to understand what Ultron was meant to be and the good it was meant to do. If we take these last few weeks as the exception and not the upcoming rule, we might not be as prepared as we could be for what comes next." Steve looked up then smiled widely and honestly. "No matter what you decide, we'll all be here fighting for you when that day comes. Thank you for coming out."

The crowd positively erupted but Steve just waved once then walked off stage.

It took Tony a minute to pick his jaw up off the floor. Steve hitching his proverbial cart to Tony's at this moment was one of the stupidest things the supersoldier had ever done. It was bad enough that Tony's name was being dragged through the mud, ruining what little credibility and trust the Avengers had managed to gain. Steve, who had opposed Ultron from the beginning, shouldn't have to suffer for Tony's decision. There needed to be at least one of them on the team who the world trusted.

"He's an idiot," he cursed under his breath. Then, louder, he said, "Get a hold of the PR team, J. Get them to start running damage control. He can't just—"

"Sir, I do believe—"

"Can it, JARVIS. Why aren't you calling people?"

"I am multi-threaded, sir. I can do many things at once."

"Your sass is not appreciated," Tony snapped before pulling his phone from his pocket and dialling Pepper. The call wasn't denied, but it rang through to voicemail. He then tried Pete, who was a remarkably dull human but could spin with the best of them, and received the same response.

"Sir?"

Thoroughly annoyed, Tony looked up from hunting through his contacts for a member of the PR team to call. "What!"

The holoscreen flipped to a blond, middle-aged reporter who looked visibly stunned. "Were we too hard on Tony Stark?" she asked the camera, eyes wide and earnest. "Steve Rogers, otherwise known as Captain America, obviously thinks so. It will raise some very interesting conversations, no matter what side you choose."

That was obviously the reaction Steve had been going for, but Tony was absolutely sure it wasn't worth the tarnish on the supersoldier's reputation. Of course, Steve would think so—he'd be confident that this would blow over in time, and that the Avengers would still stand strong between Earth and any threats.

It was giddy optimism at its finest, which had no place in a situation like this.

Fuming, Tony pulled out his phone and dialled Steve.

"I take it you saw—"

"Go back there right now and retract it all," Tony demanded.

"I can't," Steve said, sounding awfully satisfied with himself. "You know how the news cycles work. What's done is done."

"Of all the…" Tony broke off in a rather impressive stream of curses. "Don't you realize what you've done?"

"I just told the truth. They needed to hear it from someone other than your PR team." Before Tony could interject, Steve continued, "It's all of our faults, Tony. Not just yours. You shouldn't have to carry that alone."

"They're going to crucify you."

Even though it wasn't a video call, Tony could _see _Steve shrugging. "I doubt it. But if they do, I can take it."

"You're an idiot."

There was a hint of a laugh in Steve's tone when he said, "You've mentioned that before."

"This is _not_ funny." Not for the first time since Steve had waltzed into his life, Tony found himself sympathizing with everything Pepper went through to keep him on the straight and narrow. He felt a headache building and tried to ward it off by scrubbing at his forehead with the heel of his hand.

"No, it's not," Steve agreed. "There's a major threat out there and people need to realize it. It's the only way we'll be ready." In a softer tone, he added, "it's done now, Tony."

He knew Steve was referring specifically to the press conference, but his mind began racing with the laundry list of things SI was helping coordinate that were nowhere near complete: clean-up, funerals, scholarships in the names of those who had been killed. Sokovia was receiving worldwide help for their recovery efforts, with Tony contributing more than Pepper and the board had thought responsible. He had to. To let them know he'd meant things to be different. How he'd meant to _help_ them.

If only there was a way for him to let them know.

"You need to take care of yourself," Steve said softly. "You can't help anyone if you're not…" he trailed off, seeming unable to find the right words.

Tony was absolutely sure Steve hadn't meant that glibly, but it provided some much needed levity all the same. While continuing to rub at the building pain in his forehead, he asked, "Are you the kettle or the pot in this analogy?"

"I deserve that." Then there was either a hint of a chuckle or massive static interference. "Doesn't mean it's not true, though. The world needs Tony Stark if we're going to get through whatever's coming."

"Steve Rogers, too."

If he wasn't mistaken, Steve hesitated, but then he made a hum of affirmation. "I'll be back in town Saturday. Need help with any of the clean-up efforts?"

Not really, no. Tony had them pretty well covered. It wouldn't hurt to have a friend around though, to make the Tower a little less lonely.

"Sure," he said, confident he could find something to divvy up before then. He looked down as his phone buzzed and Pepper's picture appeared on the caller ID. "I gotta go. Pep's calling. See you Saturday."

He quickly switched to the other line and threw on his most winning smile for the video call. "Hey, honey. Have you seen the news?"

* * *

**Up next: Fury calls in Tony when Steve gets ambushed on a mission. It will be a little darker than the rest of the chapters, but it matches the theme of the surrounding MCU movies. It won't contain anything you wouldn't see onscreen. For comparison, it's about as dark as _Forced Alliance_.**

**Thanks for reading! Just two more chapters to go!**


	13. Steve: Ambush (Part One)

**A/N: This chapter snowballed past 6k words yesterday (pre-edits), so I am going to split it in half. Part Two will be posted Friday, and the final chapter next Tuesday.**

**Warning: This chapter is much darker than the rest, and the rating has been bumped to T accordingly. The dime store summary of the T-rated events is "Steve and his team were ambushed on a retrieval op, taken into custody, and interrogated." It goes about as well as you can imagine.**

**That being said, the fic starts after Steve escapes and the events are only mentioned in passing. Steve's injuries are slightly more graphic than in previous chapters, but I don't think they're anything worse than you see onscreen in a Marvel movie. If that squicks you out though, you can skip to the next chapter which is the mission and recovery.**

* * *

Steve smashed his fist into a Hydra agent's jaw. As the agent crumpled to the ground, Steve whirled back around and pecked out the rest of his message with his one working hand.

_Compromised. Need assist. Follow beacon._

He heard a groan behind him, and without looking, slammed his heel into the agent's face. The man went silent but the move cost him. Steve's injured left leg buckled and he barely caught himself against the metal tabletop on the way down.

With a groan, he hauled himself upright enough to send his SOS to SHIELD. Then he grabbed the agent's gun off the ground and, after checking how many bullets were left by using his right elbow as leverage, he emptied the magazine into the server racks. He knew Fitzsimmons could still retrieve the data from the bullet-ridden drives, but he was banking on the damage crippling Hydra's systems long enough to let him escape undetected.

He threw the empty gun aside then hobbled toward the door, and hopefully, freedom.

* * *

Tony Stark was sitting in his lab and squinting at the design that would turn his watch into a gauntlet (and, if he wanted, summon the rest of his suit). He had a prototype working but it didn't quite have the handling he was looking for.

"Boss, Former Director Fury is on the line," FRIDAY chirped from the overhead speakers.

"Tell him I'm busy."

"It's about Captain Rogers." Tony's gaze snapped up from his hologram as FRIDAY continued, "He is in need of assistance."

"Put Fury through."

The assumed-dead Director of SHIELD had barely come on the line before Tony demanded, "What's wrong with Steve?"

"He was sent to Venezia, Costa Grava for a retrieval," Fury said, following Tony's lead and dispensing with the greetings. "Hill received this message from him this morning." FRIDAY beamed a copy of Steve's email next to Tony's workstation.

"So send in the cavalry!" Tony exclaimed once he'd read the message no less than six times.

"We can't."

That didn't make sense. Captain America was one of SHIELD's most valuable assets, so sending him assistance on an op should be a no-brainer... In that instant, all the pieces of Fury's story clicked together, revealing their rather unpleasant picture. "Steve's not supposed to be there, is he?" Tony asked, though it was more of a statement than a question.

"No. It was supposed to be a simple in and out."

"Send in STRIKE II." The newly-assembled team whose job was _literally _not to exist.

"They're on another assignment."

Tony struggled to keep his teeth from grinding together in frustration. "Find someone else."

"I don't exactly have a lot of names to pull from, Stark. Everyone I trust is unavailable... But you."

"I'm not a SHIELD agent." It wasn't an excuse, just a fact; he didn't exact do low-key.

"Doesn't matter. Steve needs you."

Tony exhaled loudly, then pushed the gauntlet hologram back into his desk. "Send me his coordinates."

* * *

It took him ninety minutes to text Pepper, prep the suit with the prototype watch (the others were too far in development to be mobile), and arrive in Costa Grava. With FRIDAY's help, Tony had landed undetected in a field about a mile from where Steve's beacon was pinging. Given that cover was practically non-existent, he left the suit hiding in the surrounding thicket in sentry mode, and then headed toward Steve's coordinates.

The walk was not as simple as FRIDAY had led him to believe, and Tony was breathing hard by the time he'd reached the rundown shack Steve was apparently holed up in. There was a rickety porch in front that didn't offer much protection from any passersby. If he knocked on that door, he'd be completely exposed while he waited for Steve to answer. The alternative was some sort of back door, but that seemed more likely to get Tony shot than the direct approach.

He quickly scaled the porch steps and rapped on the door, painfully aware of every single shift of brush or creak of the rotting porch behind him. Surprisingly, there were very few sounds from the inside of the house, which left Tony wondering if Steve was there at all.

Just when he was about to kick the door down to be sure, it swung open and banged against the siding. The collision was so surprising after all the quiet that it momentarily distracted Tony. When he'd refocused on the doorway, he found a Glock being trained on his chest.

Tony froze. With great effort, he tore his eyes away from the Glock to see a familiar flash of blond and blue holding it. "It's me, Steve," Tony said softly, as he tried to still his rapidly beating heart.

It took a moment for recognition to seep into Steve's expression, but when it did, the barrel of the Glock swung toward the ground.

"What are you doing here?" Steve demanded. He tried to step out of the doorway but his left leg buckled, and Tony barely managed to slide under Steve's arm to keep him from face-planting.

"Okay, big guy," Tony grunted as he shifted Steve's weight higher up on his back. "Let's get you out of here."

"Can't," Steve panted, forcing his injured leg under him and straightening up slightly. "Mission."

"Screw the mission. You're hurt. We need to go." The less time they spent in Costa Grava, the better. To emphasize his point, Tony took a step toward the door but was met with resistance from Steve, who literally dug in his heels.

"Tony, we have to."

"No, we don't." Tony tightened his grip on Steve's arm and again shifted him toward the door, with about as much success as he'd had the first time. "Fury can send in someone else."

"Tony." There was something in Steve's tone that made Tony stop in his tracks and really _look_ at the supersoldier. "We have to."

A minute passed in silence before Tony cursed up a rather impressive storm and kicked the door to the shack closed. "Alright, Rogers, we'll do it your way."

_For now._

The brilliant grin Tony received in response would have been a lot more reassuring if the whites of Steve's exposed teeth did more than serve as a stark contrast for the reds and blacks splattered across his face.

"What the hell did you do to yourself this time?" Tony grumbled as he helped Steve over to a set of bunk beds. There were two in the room, pushed up against opposite walls, with a small stove, table and sink in the back corner. It was some sort of ranch hand's shelter, if Tony had to guess.

"Didn't do nothin'," Steve panted as he dropped into the bottom bunk, the short walk having apparently tired him out.

In lieu of responding, Tony took advantage of the light streaming through the window and began examining his friend. Steve's face was bruised and bloody and his stealth suit wasn't faring much better. A grimy cloth was wrapped around Steve's left quad and his knee was so swollen it was straining against the fabric of the suit. It was then that Tony noticed that the normally right-handed Steve was holding the gun in his left hand, and his right hand was slotted in a large tear in the front of his uniform.

"What happened, Steve?" he asked, more insistently.

"Bad intel," was all Steve said. "Couldn't even get through the door."

For Steve to say that really meant something. Off the top of his head, Tony could think of three separate occasions when Steve had plowed through flanks of enemy soldier without breaking a sweat: the hallway carnage when Tony had been abducted, the Hydra agents in Sokovia on the way to retrieve Loki's scepter, and the entire platoon of AIM on their last Avengers mission. For the first time since arriving, Tony began to think he'd bitten off more than he could chew, but before he could let that thought spiral, he refocused on the situation at hand and the problems he could currently solve.

Steve must have made some sort of attempt at clean-up before Tony arrived, since his face wasn't nearly as dark as the grime on the back of his hands. He hadn't, however, done well enough to keep Tony from being concerned about that crap getting into the open gashes.

"Stay here," he told Steve before walking over to the sink and rinsing out the bowl he'd found on the table under the definitely-not-clear water. It definitely wasn't ideal, but it appeared to be all they had to work with.

"I can—" Steve protested as Tony returned to his bedside with a towel and the now-filled bowl.

"Those who don't have all their faculties intact will remain quiet and accept help from those who do," Tony stated before beginning to wipe the blood and dirt off Steve's face. "You can entertain me with the story of how you ended up here," he added when Steve remained uncharacteristically quiet.

"S'posed to be a simple retrieval," Steve said, his tone devoid of emotion like he was writing his official report. "But our intel underestimated the amount of men guarding the 084. Beck went down first. They used Martinez as leverage to get me to stop." Steve screwed his eyes closed, and when he spoke again, his voice was strained. "They killed him when I wouldn't talk."

_God, Steve_. "How'd you get out?"

"They didn't have any more leverage so I broke the cuffs and escaped. Stopped at the control room to send for help and made my way here."

To give him time to process what he'd heard and to keep his own memories at bay, Tony walked over to the sink and painstakingly rinsed both the towel and bowl, waiting until the water ran grayish again before filling the bowl anew. This wasn't about him. He needed to hold it together.

"What happened to your leg?" he asked upon his return.

Steve's gaze flicked away from the bedding. "You really want to know?"

_Want_ had nothing to do with it. If it were up to Tony, he wouldn't hear another word about what Steve had gone through until they were back in the States. But he _needed_ to know exactly how Steve was injured, so he could compensate accordingly when they took a second run at the mission.

"Yes," he finally said, hoping he kept the reluctance out of his tone.

"One of them got a set of Peruvian steel knives for Christmas. Wanted to try them out." Then Steve looked over at Tony and his blank expression took on a horrified sheen. "I'm sorry, Tony," he stammered. "I shouldn't have gone into details."

Steve's concern was touching—wrong place, wrong time, but touching all the same. "I wouldn't be here if I couldn't handle it," Tony said, voice a touch thinner than usual. Before Steve could continue, Tony pointed to the bandage wrapped around the supersoldier's thigh. "Does it need to be cleaned?"

Steve still looked horrified but allowed the subject to be changed. "It's just one big cut," he said with a shake of his head. "It's probably started healing by now."

"Let me rephrase. We're cleaning it again."

Somewhat reluctantly, Steve nodded, but he did help Tony unwrap the old shirt with only his left hand.

_One problem at a time._

Sure enough, the gash was already healing, though it was hardly as minimal as Steve was trying to make it sound. It was one long cut and thankfully wasn't very wide, but it ran from just under his hip to the top of his knee. There wasn't much Tony could do about it, other than clean it out, which he began doing so his brain could shift to the next problem.

"And your knee?"

"Stepped in a hole on my way out." Steve hissed as Tony slid the cleanest portion of the cloth through the center of the wound. "Heard it pop."

As if the number of existing problems weren't enough, Steve had gone and manufactured some more.

With Steve's leg now as clean as Tony could manage, he put the bowl aside and started rewrapping the makeshift bandage. In the background, his brain was racing, trying to figure out a way to keep Steve mobile and alive for as long as this cursed op would run. Unfortunately, he was coming up empty. "With everything you've just told me, how, exactly, do you think we're going to complete the mission?" he finally asked.

Steve looked over at Tony and just grinned; the effect was a lot less grisly now that his face was skin-toned again. "I have faith."

_That made one of them._

Tony made a noncommittal sound as he tucked in the corner of the shirt, thus finishing up Steve's leg. That left just one more injury to attend to. "What happened to your hand?"

Steve slid his hand further into his uniform as he said, "I got that one."

Which meant it was really, really bad if Steve didn't want Tony to see it.

Unfortunately, that wasn't an option. "I need to see it, Steve," he prompted gently.

Steve hesitated again, but this time, for an inexplicable reason, anger surged through Tony's system. "Do you trust me or not?" he snapped.

"You know that I do." No pause there, just Steve's earnest tone.

"Then let me see it."

Steve nodded uncertainly then slowly slid his hand from his uniform.

To put it nicely, his hand was mangled. Swollen, purple fingers stuck out at all angles and there was a deep dent in the back of the appendage. Tony could only imagine what the Costa Gravans had wanted to know to inflict this damage.

As he continued to stare, his stomach lurched and he felt his last meal threaten to make a second appearance. He inhaled sharply and focused on breathing for a moment, determined to keep his lunch internalized.

"I tried to set it myself," Steve rambled, almost self-consciously. "But it needs two working hands."

"Okay." Tony snapped his gaze to Steve's face, fighting to keep the revulsion out of his expression. "What do you need me to do?"

"You gotta realign the bones."

The nausea rose again and this time, Tony had to look away to keep from heaving. "Steve, I don't know how."

"Just hold my wrist and pull."

"There's no chance we can wait?"

Steve shook his head. "They're already starting to heal."

_Goddamn it._

Tony reached out and gently took Steve's hand, wincing as he saw the supersoldier bite into his lower lip. "I'm sorry," he said, knowing his words were woefully inadequate.

"Jus' get over with." Using his good hand, Steve tore off what was left of one uniform sleeve and stuffed it between his teeth. Then he nodded, his gaze surprisingly clear for someone in so much pain.

Tony made a face and steeled himself for what was coming next. Then he wrapped his fingers around Steve's wrist, and without pausing, grabbed his index finger and yanked. A stifled scream split the air as the digit snapped back into place and Steve sagged against the bed, his chest heaving.

"Steve…" Tony began, phrasing the name as a question.

The soldier jammed his teeth deeper into his gag and tilted his head toward the other fingers. Tony grimaced and readjusted his grip on Steve's wrist.

"You know, I never broke any fingers but I did break my arm when I was little—" Tony's stomach lurched violently as Steve's middle finger popped back into place but he focused on keeping his voice steady. "—I was running to show my mom my newest invention. Those stupid hardwood floors."

_Pop!_ went Steve's ring finger, and the supersoldier groaned through his makeshift gag, his eyes fluttering closed.

_Yeah, I hope you are unconscious_, Tony thought. _It'll make the rest of this a whole lot easier._

"—Slipped and went slamming into the wall. Had my arm out to brace my fall and everything."

Steve's pinky popped like the others but it remained jutting out at an unnatural angle, and Tony swore loudly as he realized he'd have to repeat the procedure. He set his jaw then pulled harder on the finger, which thankfully slipped back into its socket.

"Fingers done," he announced, not sure if Steve could actually hear him.

"The hand," came a terse reply.

Stark carefully slipped his hand under Steve's palm, feeling bones shift under his grip. "They're dead," he vowed as he attempted to realign the bones as best as possible. He had some basic first-aid training from Sam, but he was pretty sure the hand bones were supposed to be a lot longer than the fragments he was shifting.

"Yup," Steve panted with a wince.

"'Yup, they're already dead', or 'yup, you agree with me'?"

"First 'un."

"Good," Tony spat with all the malice he could muster.

When he was finished with Steve's hand, Tony rested it on his leg, then grabbed a blanket from a nearby shelf, banged as much dust off of it as he could, and ripped it into little strips.

"Now jammed fingers I know something about. Happens more often than you might think." He continued to monologue as he carefully moved Steve's index and middle fingers next to each other and tied the shirt strips between the knuckles, effectively keeping the fingers immobile. He repeated the process for the ring and pinky fingers. With the fabric that was left, he gently wrapped Steve's hand, looping fabric around Steve's wrist as well to keep the whole thing from accidentally moving.

When he was finished, he leaned back against the canopy post and watched the soldier take a series of short and shallow breaths.

"Thank… you," Steve rasped.

"I can't believe you want to go back in there, in this condition," was all Tony replied.

"Don't hava choice."

Now that Steve was somewhat settled, Tony had a chance to process just how shitty this entire situation was. If Steve was this desperate to get whatever the Costa Gravans had, the 084 must extremely important. That combined with the fact that Steve had escaped meant there would be extra security guarding it. Which would be a cinch for Steve on a normal day, when he was healthy and whole. Basically any day but today. And if all that wasn't enough, they'd definitely lost the element of surprise.

"We won't be able to do anything 'til nightfall, right?" Tony asked. He waited for Steve to nod before he continuing, "Why don't you catch a few? I'll keep watch. Then, you can read me in."

Steve silently handed over the gun that he'd at some point dropped onto the mattress beside him, then rolled onto his side, facing the shack's wall. Tony didn't take it personally and instead popped out the magazine to check how many bullets were left. He situated himself in the opposite bunk bed, facing the shack's door with the gun in easy reach.

"Thank you," Steve said again, after Tony was sure he'd fallen asleep.

"You can thank me when we're sitting back in the Tower tossing back that cheap beer you like."

If he wasn't mistaken, Steve might have huffed out a laugh before replying, "You got a deal."

* * *

**Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you thought!**


	14. Steve: Ambush (Part Two)

**Mission and recovery, here we go!**

* * *

Calling their plan 'good' was the overstatement of the century. 'Decent' or 'passable' was even a bit of a stretch. Honestly, it was one of the worst plans Tony had ever heard Steve make.

"Where's the part where you let me do all the heavy lifting because you're walking like a nonagenarian?" Tony had asked, to which Steve had just pulled himself up straighter and insisted for the seventh time that he'd be fine. When further attempts to edit the plan were brushed off in a similar fashion, Tony just gave up and began preparing himself and the armor for the mission.

As soon as the sun set, Tony called the suit to him with his watch, picked Steve up while being mindful of his injuries, then took off for what he now knew was a Hydra compound in the center of Venezia. Thanks to the new set of upgrades in the suit, they landed silently on the roof twenty minutes later.

Steve immediately moved to stand on his own but ended up putting too much weight on his bad leg. Thankfully, Tony hadn't quite let go of Steve's shoulder and was able to catch the supersoldier when he pitched forward. Steve just nodded his thanks, then motioned for Tony to lead the way.

They crept into the compound through the maintenance entrances Steve had known about from the first mission briefing. He, Beck and Martinez had opted away from them due to the limits of their equipment and the extremely rigorous time frame Fury had set. With Tony's suit though, getting on the roof and into the access shaft was a piece of cake.

Almost immediately, they ran into resistance and Steve, for once in his life, had the good sense to stay behind Tony until the Hydra agents were down. For whatever reason, he'd been sent in without his shield, so he quickly hunched over and picked up as many guns as he could get his hands on before they continued down the hallway. It didn't matter that his right hand stayed slotted in the front of his uniform; even with his left, he was ruthless, taking out agent after agent with a vengeance Tony hadn't seen before. Sure, he'd seen its aftermath after he'd been abducted, but never in person.

If he was being honest, Steve's raw ferocity concerned him. But then that felt hypocritical since he knew he'd felt much the same way while escaping the cave, and he'd come back from that pretty well, if he did say so himself. So, maybe there was no reason to worry about Steve after all...

Tony couldn't spare it any more cycles since FRIDAY alerted him to a group of agents just around the corner. He motioned to Steve who slipped into position on Tony's right flank before they rounded the corner, weapons blazing. They took out five without issue, but Tony had seen six blobs on the thermal radar. He spun around to locate the sixth, who was cowering in a nearby doorway.

The agent threw down his gun the moment Tony aimed a repulsor at him. "Please," he begged, eyes shining in fear. "I have a family."

Tony couldn't shake the feeling that this was a trap and kept his repulsor primed accordingly. "What do you think, Cap?" he asked, without looking away from the shaking agent.

When he didn't get a response, Tony risked a quick glance over his shoulder to see Steve training his gun on the weaponless agent's chest. His gaze was still burning and Tony _knew_ he was thinking about the teammates he'd lost the first time around.

What he also knew was that Steve would never forgive himself if he pulled the trigger.

Since Steve's judgement was obviously compromised, it would be up to Tony to act as the voice of reason until the mission was over. It wasn't something he'd consider himself good at, but for Steve, who had proven time and time again that he had Tony's back, he'd find a way to manage.

After handing over control of his repulsor to FRIDAY, Tony reached out with his other hand and tapped the barrel of Steve's gun. "Let him go," he said softly.

Steve's lips pursed tightly together and he inhaled sharply through his nose. Suddenly Tony wasn't sure he wanted to know what Steve had gone through on this mission; if it was bad enough to shake Steve's normally uncompromising moral compass, it must have been unspeakable.

"Let him go, Steve," he repeated, closing his fingers so they circled around the barrel of Steve's gun. That way, if Steve fired, FRIDAY could knock the shot off-course. "He's not worth it."

The supersoldier made a choked sound but _finally_ let his arm fall to his side. They stood in this silent stalemate for twenty-four seconds of Steve's ragged breathing before he spoke up again.

"Iron Man has your picture." Steve didn't look up from the ground and his tone was completely devoid of emotion, which honestly made his words that much more terrifying. "You will report yourself to the Costa Gravan police. You will give up any and all information about this base and what it does. If we don't have a report of this in the next twenty-four hours…" Steve shrugged then lifted his gaze to meet the Hydra agent's frightened stare. "You know who I am, you know who I work with. Do you really want to take a chance?"

The man's eyes widened to almost comical proportions before he shook his head fervently and all but sprinted out of the hallway.

Without another word, Steve leaned his shoulder against the wall, picked up the agent's discarded gun and slid it into his belt. When he stood back up, his tortured expression was gone, replaced by a completely blank slate. Only his eyes still hinted at the sadness Tony had seen only a moment ago.

"I'm sorry," Tony heard himself saying.

Steve just shook his head and continued hobbling down the hallway.

* * *

The guards surrounding the room that housed the 084 went down as quickly as the rest. Once the threat had passed, Tony blasted down the door and stepped in before Steve. The room was empty, both to his eye and FRIDAY's scanners, which allowed him to turn his attention to the cabinet on the far wall that held a glowing sphere. It was about the size of a quarter and shone blue, like everything alien did these days. From the way Steve honed in on it the second he entered the room, Tony knew it was the 084 he'd been tasked with obtaining.

Steve limped past Tony, broke the glass door of the cabinet with his elbow, then retrieved a black drawstring bag from a pocket at his waist. He lowered it over the sphere and the glow immediately disappeared, which led Tony to believe the bag was designed by either Fitz or Simmons, who were growing less and less annoying with each passing year.

He was expecting sirens, alarms or _Indiana Jones_-esque traps as Steve pulled the bagged object free of the cabinet, but thankfully there was only silence. Steve then hobbled back to Tony and held out the drawstring bag. "You take it."

Tony didn't like being handed things on principle, and that feeling had only strengthened after their spat with the collapsing office building last year. Steve not making it through this was not a possibility he was going to entertain.

He pushed Steve's hands back and said,"If this is going to be like giving me your shield, I'm not interested."

Steve's face darkened. "Take it, so I don't lose it," he snapped, pushing the bag more forcefully toward Tony.

"If you're doing this because you're planning on clocking out again, I will murder you myself."

Steve's glower was deadly, but safe behind the Iron Man suit, Tony held his ground.

"Take the damn bag," Steve finally ground out.

"As long as we're in agreement." Without waiting for Steve to reply, Tony grabbed the bag's strings and slipped it into the storage at his hip.

"Can you wipe the security footage?"

A status bar in the bottom corner of the HUD had been gaining ground since they entered the room. Now, Tony watched it creep from 95% to 100% before reporting, "Already done."

"Good," Steve said, looking visible drained. "Let's get out of here."

* * *

They'd made it back up to the roof with minimal interaction with other Hydra agents. There didn't appear to be any additional staffing from what Steve recalled, so apparently they really hadn't expected the injured supersoldier to take another run at the 084 tonight. Tony wasn't complaining though, especially as Steve started to fade behind him.

Three minutes and a flight check later, they were on their way back to the States. Unfortunately, with Steve woefully unprotected from the elements, Tony couldn't fly at full speed, so the trip back was going to take much longer than the one there. They flew mostly in silence until somewhere over Florida when FRIDAY alerted Tony that Steve's vitals had taken a steep dive. The AI quickly rerouted them to the nearest hospital while Tony tried to rouse Steve, with little success.

FRIDAY must have called ahead since there was a crew waiting at the doors of the ER before Tony touched down. It was so similar to April 2014, when he'd carried a bloody and dying Steve to MedStar Washington after his encounter with the Winter Soldier, that it set Tony on edge. With great effort, he forced those memories away and focused on getting Steve, who was draped limply in his arms, onto a gurney without hurting him further.

Then Steve was whisked away, leaving Tony standing in the lobby at the mercy of the other patients were now crowding him with questions and photo requests. Before his brain could spit out a course of action, two security guards shoved their way through the mob and led Tony, still in his full Iron Man armor, to a private waiting room, where he quickly de-suited and dropped into an uncomfortable plastic chair to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

The staff dropped by occasionally, bringing him coffee and sandwiches. Tony ate and drank the sealed objects they offered, even though none of it had any discernible taste.

At some point, he called Fury to inform him that the object was secure, but that Steve was in the hospital. It was only when Fury asked that he realized he didn't know which one. Fury promised to handle it before asking Tony to send him the 084. Tony was so tired of glowing blue things, and of over-confident, definitely-still-human supersoldiers who kept throwing themselves after said things, that he didn't even object. After telling Fury to message FRIDAY his coordinates, Tony pulled his watch over his hand to expand the gauntlet, locked its fingers around the drawstring bag, and let FRIDAY take over. A beat later, he gauntlet peeled itself off his hand, bag still tightly wrapped in its fingers, and flew away.

The waiting continued and Tony was in the middle of watching the second hand tick around the overhead clock when a red-haired doctor walked in. "How is he?" Tony demanded as he scrambled to his feet. He'd been sitting for so long though that his numb legs refused to bear his weight, leaving him clutching at a nearby lamp for support.

The doctor was at his side immediately, asking him questions and offering him assistance. Tony was definitely _not _the one they all needed to be worried about right now, so he shoved rods down the backs of his knees and forced himself to stand straight.

Dr. Scott, as her name badge read, then took him through Steve's various injuries, which were far more extensive than Steve had let on—that _bastard_. The good news was Steve was expected to make a full recovery, but Dr. Scott quickly followed it by the bad news that she was going to keep Steve a few nights for observation. Without being asked, Tony knew it was going to be up to him, and maybe Sam via video chat, to make sure Steve did what the doctors wanted.

Then, Dr. Scott led Tony into Steve's room and closed the door behind them. As Tony stood awkwardly in the doorway, Steve didn't so much as stir: his eyes didn't open, his hand didn't twitch, and his jaw didn't do its not-so-subtle shift when Steve was only pretending to be asleep. It appeared the supersoldier was well and truly unconscious.

Tony approached slowly, taking in the thick bandages wrapped around Steve's abdomen and thigh, and the metal brace bracketed his knee.

_"Too much swelling to see what's going on," Dr. Scott had said about Steve's knee, before stating that __Steve would need more X-rays when the swelling had gone down. "Could just be a sprain for all we know."_

Butterfly bandages were littered over Steve's face and his left hand was in some sort of blue plastic contraption that kept all his fingers separated and in straight lines. When he was dying of boredom two hours later, Tony would Google it and learn that it was called a Saebo splint.

He must have drifted off in the chair next to Steve's bed, since he was jarred into alertness by the sound of monitoring equipment going haywire. Blearily, he looked over to see Steve fumbling to remove his electrodes.

Tony was on his feet in an instant, his hand clamping down over Steve's IV port before the supersoldier could remove that too. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

"They're coming," Steve mumbled as he pawed unsuccessfully at Tony's hand.

"Who's coming?"

"Costa Gravans."

"How do—"

"Heard the guards." Steve looked up at Tony, his expression _pleading_ for Tony to trust him. "We have to go now."

Even though Tony had sent the 084 to Fury, which was what the Costa Gravans were most likely after, he realized they didn't have a choice. This hospital hadn't been thoroughly vetted by FRIDAY and Tony had no idea who they could trust. The Costa Gravans were just as likely to get through the temp security stationed outside Steve's room as anyone else.

Tony had just lifted his hand from Steve's arm when Melinda, the dark-haired floor nurse, rushed into the room. She took one look at the two of them and placed her hand on the space Tony's had just vacated. "Captain Rogers, I must—"

"We have to go," Tony interrupted. "Don't have time to explain but his life is in danger. Will you help us?"

Steve must have fixed Melinda with the same look he'd just leveled at Tony, since a beat later, Melinda reluctantly nodded and released Steve's arm.

"Send me the bill later," Tony said as she began preparing Steve for transport. "You all know where I live."

While disconnecting monitoring equipment, Melinda smiled kindly at him. "I wasn't worried about that at all. Captain Rogers, however…" As if on cue, Steve tried to sit upright and choked back a groan. Melinda immediately leaned in to provide support which allowed him the freedom to wrap his right arm around his abdomen.

"I'll make sure he gets seen again," Tony promised.

Melinda nodded as she shoved a pillow under Steve's back for him to rest against. Then she pulled out Steve's IV, swapped it for a pack of gauze, and instructed him to hold his hand in the air and apply pressure while she fetched the elastic bandage.

"I really don't—" Steve began but he was cut off by her challenging look. "That'll be fine," he amended.

Looking rather satisfied with herself, Melinda wrapped the stretchy blue tape around his elbow to pin the gauze in place.

"You need to go straight back to a hospital," she said as she helped Steve into a wheelchair.

Steve made a noncommittal humming sound and looked over his shoulder at Tony, silently asking if he was ready.

First things first. "Does he have everything he needs?" Tony asked Melinda.

"For now. I'll hold them off with a code." She then pressed her badge into Tony's hand. "Take the service elevator in the northeast corner. That will get you to the roof."

"Thank you," Steve said, earnestly. Just like he did everything else.

"No," she replied. "Thank both of you."

* * *

The flight back to the Tower went much more smoothly than the one to the Florida. To start, they'd borrowed an oxygen tank from the hospital, which, once the mask was strapped over Steve's face, allowed them to fly slightly faster. Second, Steve remained conscious, albeit quiet, the entire time. "No hospital," once the Manhattan skyline was insight, was the first thing he'd said since Tony made sure he was ready to take off.

Tony looked at the HUD which was awash with Steve's vitals. They were fairly normal considering the flight time, but still...

"Steve, I—"

"Please."

Tony was at a loss to describe it, but that one word somehow had him ready to go against his gut feeling. After simultaneously rolling his eyes and swearing under his breath, he said, "Fine. But Dr. Bryant," a SHIELD doc who had been loyal since the beginning, "is coming to check you out tomorrow morning."

"Done deal." Steve might have smiled but it disappeared so quickly Tony wasn't sure.

The minute they landed, Tony lowered Steve to the ground and again held on until the supersoldier had steadied himself. It was a little easier this time with the massive number of bandages and braces providing additional support.

By the time Tony had stepped out of his suit, Steve had stumbled into the foyer and dropped bonelessly onto the closest couch.

"You sure you don't want to sleep in your bed?" Tony asked, leaning over the back of the couch to check on Steve. He'd lost the little color he'd regained at the hospital but otherwise looked no worse for the wear.

"Nah." Steve waved his hand dismissively. "This is fine."

"Okay, then." Unsure of what to do next, Tony nodded once then strode out of the room. He'd go down to his workshop, fiddle with the watch-to-gauntlet conversion a little more...

He'd barely made it into the hallway before he ground to a stop. It was as if something was drawing him back to that room, refusing to let him keep going forward. It took him a minute to figure out what it was and another to figure out how he wanted to phrase it.

"Steve?" he asked as he stepped back into the living room.

"Yeah?"

"You, uh, know I'm here for you, right? I know I play the cold, disinterested billionaire well, but I do care. And I can listen. If you want. Or we can find someone to listen. Someone with a degree. And clinical experience. Your choice."

Steve lifted his head over the back of the couch so he could meet Tony's eyes. "I do. And thank you."

"Good." That awkwardness complete, Tony nodded and turned back to the hallway. "Then night."

"Tony?"

Tony flipped around again, feeling rather like a puppet on a string. "Yeah, Steve?"

"Do you want to watch a movie? I hear the _Zoolander _sequel isn't that bad."

It was rather awful, actually. He'd seen it opening weekend with Rhodey, who unabashedly loved the first one. But Tony recognized what Steve was really asking and walked back into the living room without additional coercing.

"Sure." He sat down beside the bruised supersoldier and instructed FRIDAY to play the movie. It wasn't on DVD yet but all of Tony's AIs been programmed to acquire such things for personal use only.

The opening credits had just finished rolling when Steve spoke up again. "Thanks for coming after me," he said softly.

"You're welcome. But if you're thinking of doing it again, my heart and hairline will beg you to reconsider."

Steve grinned loosely and refocused on the film. "I'll keep that in mind."

* * *

**Up next: our final chapter, set post-_Civil War. _****Tune in Tuesday to find out what trouble our dynamic duo manages to get into this time.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	15. Pepper: Missing

**A/N: As with all my other post-_Civil War_ fics, this chapter will be friendly to both "sides". Tony and Steve are human and both made their fair share of mistakes.**

**Hope you enjoy the final chapter!**

* * *

It had been eighteen hours since Pepper had left for the Manhattan SI office, twelve since the board members reported her a no-show, and eleven hours and fifty-six minutes since Tony had packed up his gear and taken the suit back to New York.

He was now sitting in his lab at the Compound, watching various footage of his fiancé boarding the jet; of it landing safely at La Guardia; of her deplaning and being met by Miguel, the valet, who had been with SI for years, but whose credentials and coworkers Tony was now re-vetting; and of Pepper arriving and walking into the Manhattan office, timestamped sixteen hours ago and corroborated by multiple sources. And yet, she somehow hadn't made it to the eighteenth floor for the State of the Company address. Tony had scoured footage of the lobby, of the elevators, of the surrounding streets, but the moment Pepper stepped into the SI HQ, she had well and truly disappeared.

It was quite a statement in itself that the first thing he considered was magic. He'd screened the footage for telltale red tendrils—not that he thought any of _them_ would stoop to such a level, but he had to be sure—and was more than a little bit relieved when he didn't find anything. Said relief vanished a split second later when he realized that all that meant was that another viable lead hadn't panned out and he was no closer to finding his fiance. FRIDAY had broken down every frame of available SI video and hadn't found anything to report either, which left Tony with the conclusion that unless there was a new enhanced who could teleport their victims without being in the vicinity and didn't leave any trace on any cameras—he'd know for sure if Fury would pick up his phone—there had to be a more mundane explanation for Pepper's disappearance.

Frustration surged through Tony and he swept his arm across his desk, knocking all the objects to the floor. Distantly, he heard things shatter against the concrete, but couldn't find one iota of his to care. Things could be replaced; Pepper could not.

He sucked in a deep inhale through clenched teeth, then set his jaw, pulled up the holograms, and reviewed the footage again. There's had to be _some _trace of _someone somewhere. _She hadn't just vanished into thin air.

He took a brief break to politely harass the police department, who informed him that they were doing everything possible to locate Miss Potts, but had no viable leads. As his frustration built, Tony called a number he knew had been long disconnected… Just in case. No surprise, there was no answer.

At this point, Tony's desire to break something was running strong again, but before he let himself give into that urge, he checked in with his friends, who were helping in whatever way they could.

Happy, on Tony's behalf, had already been on the phone with various banks, preparing them to have as much cash as Tony needed ready at a moment's notice. He was ready to part with whatever amount they wanted, if it meant he would get Pepper back. After all he'd lost through what the media was dubbing the "Superhero Civil War", he couldn't lose her too.

Rhodey was overseas on an Air Force operation and was unable to get away, but every so often Tony received a message with a link to some camera or satellite footage FRIDAY hadn't been able to hack yet. Nothing usable had come from them yet but Tony wasn't ready to give up hope.

He could really have used Vision's help but Ross had wanted him for a two-week training and evaluation period, which Tony was positive was code for something much worse, so Tony had sent Vision to spend time with Wanda. Even though Vision had crafted much more careful excuses for his recent absences, Tony wasn't dense enough to miss what was really happening. He had however messaged Vision with the old system he and JARVIS had set-up and told him to stay away at all costs, but to send whatever intel he might come across.

In a brief lapse twenty-six hours after Pepper had vanished, Tony even considered calling up the kid, but it was the middle of the day so he was definitely (hopefully) in school. Tony had no doubt Peter would drop everything and come running, but he couldn't find it in himself to burden a sixteen-year-old with this.

Which left him nothing to do but review the footage. Again. For a change in perspective, Tony flipped the footage vertically and when that didn't reveal anything new, flipped horizontally. When that too came up empty, he ran it backward, hoping to see something... _anything..._ out of the ordinary.

"Boss, there is someone at the front gate," FRIDAY interrupted, just as Tony was considering punching something to alleviate the helplessness that was pressing down around him.

"Tell them I'm not interested," he replied, without even looking up from the monitors. As he watched the second shift SI employees pass backward through the keycard scanners, he was running calculations in his head and deciding it would hurt less, and do less damage, to punch the table. Least injury to his hand, no injury to the desk. Glass wall would leave shards, metal wall shatter his hand—

"Boss." FRIDAY almost hesitated before adding, "it's Captain Rogers."

Tony's brain short-circuited for a moment, leaving him staring blankly at the table in front of him. Then all the memories of Siberia came crashing back in one awful second and he clutched at his desk to ground himself in the here and now. "Get him out of here," he spat.

"He says he wants to help."

"Tell him to go back to whatever hidey-hole he crawled out of. We've got this."

"Boss." Thought that was all FRIDAY said, her tone somehow conveyed a strong tone of, "_Don't be idiotic. We could use all the help we could get_."

For Pepper. He could do this for Pepper.

Ignoring everything in his being that was screaming for him to turn Steve away, Tony scowled, cursed, then said, "Fine, let him in. But alert Happy and Rhodey."

"Already done, boss."

* * *

Tony knew it took exactly three minutes and fifty-eight seconds to walk from the first gate to his lab. He spent every one of them fidgeting in his chair, trying to hide the stuff he'd swept off his desk under his desk, and trying to make it look like he wasn't one sharp word away from having a mental breakdown. Thankfully, DUM-E rolled in with a massive push broom attached to its claw and swept most of the debris out of sight.

"He's getting off the elevator, boss," FRIDAY announced, which had Tony valiantly tugging on his shirt to straighten it, then running a hand through his tangled hair and wincing as it caught on knots. He felt semi-foolish for doing that but he needed to prove he was fine without the Avengers—that he was handling the massive shitstorm they'd left him with, and that he was doing it with style and grace. If you asked the right people, they might even say he was _thriving_.

Okay, _that_ might have been a little much to hope for. Right now, he'd settle for looking like he was holding it together remarkably well.

Tony heard the door open and shot upright. A sense of dread instantly settled over him as he fully processed the idea that he was once again in the same room as his ex-friend. His breathing sped up slightly and his hands turned cold, but he reminded himself that his suits (at least five, seven if they only needed defensive capacity) were primed behind him if things got out of hand or Rogers wasn't actually here to help.

Somehow, despite all that had transpired between them, Tony doubted that would be the case. As much as he could hate Rogers, and presumably vice versa, it was surpassed by the need to get Pepper home safely.

Rogers took exactly one step into the room, just enough so the door could close behind him, then stopped. He'd changed a lot since the last time Tony had seen him. A scraggly beard covered his jaw and his once beautiful suit had been darkened, its exterior full of scuffs and tears.

"Hey," Rogers said uneasily.

Tony wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but 'hey' was not it. Fire coursed through his veins at the casualness of Steve's words and the desire to punch something—nay, someone—resurged. "'Hey'?" he spat out. "After twelve whole months, '_hey' _is all you have for me?"

"I was going for something non-confrontational," Rogers replied, a small bite to his tone. Tony could see his hackles rise slightly and how Steve shifted his weight to put his right foot slightly in front of his left. It was a defensive stance, but a fighting one all the same.

He hadn't entered like that though; the shift had only occurred in reaction to Tony's words.

Tony inhaled slowly and reminded himself what was at stake. Then, he began mentally listing the things in the near vicinity that made him feel safe until his anger and the undercurrents of fear simmered down: his battle-ready suits; Happy en route and hopefully Rhodey, after this latest development; FRIDAY and her completely control over the lab, including the Emergency Shut Down Protocol.

Finally, he could breathe again and his vision returned to the full spectrum of colors.

"Near miss," he ground out in a semi-level tone. Go him.

"Oh." Rogers actually looked apologetic and, as the silence dragged on, he shifted back to a normal, somewhat relaxed stance. "I heard about Pepper," he finally said. "Was close enough to change course. I'm just here to help... if you want me."

There was a slight lift at the end, making his words into a question.

"No," Tony responded without hesitation. "But it's not about me."

Rogers nodded, his expression somber, yet grateful. "So… where do we stand?"

* * *

"Wait, wind that back."

Blearily, Tony looked up from the screen he'd been viewing, with the same net results as earlier. Four hours had passed since Rogers' arrival and they'd spent the time pointedly not talking. Instead, they'd viewed and reviewed footage from that day, expanded scope into Pepper's last few days, and in Tony's case, made call after call to every organization or agency he knew or to anyone who owed him a favor. He would cash them all in, no strings attached, if one led to a location on his fiancé.

"Boss?" Friday asked and Tony had never loved his AI more than he did in that moment. The not-so-subtle assertion of dominance, reminding Rogers whose house he was in, was better than Tony could have ever programmed. But that spark of joy died as quickly as it appeared. This wasn't the time, and having Rogers run everything through him wasn't going to get them anywhere.

Just as Rogers looked over, clearly ready to apologize, Tony said, "It's okay, FRI. Today only."

"Yes, boss."

The footage screeched backward, until Rogers asked Friday, politely, to pause. Then, he walked over to the center-most monitor and leaned forward until his nose was nearly touching the screen.

"You know we can enhance it," Tony said dryly.

"No need." Rogers backed up, then pointed to the screen on his left. "FRIDAY, go back to Pepper heading back from lunch... There, thanks," he said before resuming his squinting act. Then he pointed to the screen up and to the left. "Back to yesterday, please. Around dinner time, just after the drunk guy with the green scarf goes by."

Once that screen was paused as well, Rogers nodded, then turned triumphantly around to Tony.

"Boss, it's the same guy," FRIDAY interjected before Rogers could open his mouth.

To his credit, Steve's expression didn't change at all. He just shifted so he could point out one person on each screen.

"You sure?" Tony asked, coming to stand in the vicinity of Steve—out of arm's reach, but still close enough to see the monitors.

"High-probability facial match."

"How did we miss that?"

"Massive amounts of data to process, millions of people to match against, poor quality camera footage, crowds," FRIDAY continued down a rather long list, but Tony tuned her out.

"How did _you _see that?"

Rogers shrugged. "He just kinda stood out. I can't really explain it."

Tony squinted at the three people Steve had isolated and shrugged. To him, the guy looked like any other person on the street: there was nothing special about him. But this was the first real lead they'd had in over a day, so it was worth their time to investigate. "Run him across the last few days," he ordered FRIDAY. "Let's see how long Pepper was being followed. Hack into New SHIELD and run his face. See if we can get a name."

Tony commandeered the nearest screen and sent a text to Happy, who was working down in the security office, reviewing everyone who had come into the Compound or the Tower. It was basically the same thing he and Rogers were doing but on a smaller scale. After seeing how personally Happy was taking the fact that someone had abducted Pepper on his watch, it was good for him to keep busy. Plus, it kept him from chasing down everyone who had entered the Tower over the last week and brandishing the suped-up Taser Tony had designed for him at them until they revealed where Pepper was.

_Mobilize the van_, Tony now texted. _FRIDAY_—backspace—_Rogers found something._

Tony turned to Rogers. "I'd say suit up, but…" he gestured to Steve's outfit with a swooping gesture.

Rogers smiled thinly. "Works for more than just combat situations."

"That isn't all you've been wearing for the past year, is it?" The question had slipped out before Tony could stop it, and as much as he wanted to take it back, he found himself very interested in the answer.

Thankfully, Rogers shook his head. "I just wanted to be ready." He paused then looked over at Tony, clearly ready to tackle a situation Tony was _not _ready to handle today.

It was Tony's turn to shake his head, except more vigorously, as if the motion could literally stop whatever Rogers' next words from entering his ears. "No, no, no, no, no. Absolutely not the time."

He continued his jerky denials for at least another minute, and by the time his head was thoroughly spinning, Rogers' lips were pressed tightly together. The supersoldier then mimed tapping imaginary bracelets on his wrists and holding out his arms, in what Tony supposed was supposed to be a suggestion for Tony to suit up himself.

"We left those behind in 2013," Tony muttered as he walked over to his desk and slapped his palm down on it. Lights flashed beneath his hand, then the top drawer popped open. He retrieved a thin red and gold vest, tapped the center, then held out his arms and legs, allowing his newest suit to sprout from the edges of the vest.

As grave as the situation was, Tony couldn't help looking over at Steve and seeing the look of absolute amazement on his former friend's face.

_Damn straight._

"Nanotech," Tony explained, though he wasn't really sure why.

"It's really something." And Rogers didn't sound the last bit sarcastic.

"Boss," FRIDAY cut in. "I found him."

* * *

Tracking down Liam Carter was relatively easy. Getting him to reveal where Pepper was was another story. Tony wasn't ashamed to admit he went around the corner while Rogers _persuaded_ Carter to give up Pepper's location. Carter could still walk and talk when Rogers was done, and as a bonus, still had all his internal organs, fingers and toes, so Tony considered that a win.

The address they'd been given up led to a storefront, which looked abandoned from the exterior. They'd reviewed the blueprints on the way over and identified two main points of egress—one in the front, one in the back—and a few windows, only one of which was large or low enough for a human to get through.

"I'll go through the back," Rogers now said as they sat in the back of the TAC van Happy had acquired. Tony still didn't know why Happy had bought it in the first place, but it was proving to be more useful than he'd expected. "You through the front, and Rhodes through the side window."

Rhodey had somehow managed to get out of his op once he'd heard Rogers was back and had immediately flown back to the Compound. The minute he'd arrived, he laid into Rogers, unafraid to let him know exactly what he thought of the fight with Tony and Rogers' subsequent disappearing act. Rogers had just stood there and taken it all, without denying or arguing with any of Rhodey's accusations. Tony let this go on for five minutes while Happy had been getting the van ready—both because there was nothing else for any of them to do, but mostly because it was validating to hear Rhodey say what he hadn't. The minute Happy was ready though, Tony had stepped in and refocused the conversation. Thankfully, Rhodey and Rogers had done the same.

"I disagree," Rhodey now said as he lifted himself from the bench seat of the van and jammed his index finger into the blueprints Steve had laid out on the long counter that ran the length of the van's cabin.

As a surprisingly civil debate ensued between Happy, Rogers and Rhodey, Tony tapped the side of his glasses, which were sitting on opposite end of the counter. Colors danced in the lenses, signalling FRIDAY was booting up, before the glasses folded into what looked like a small drone. Without Tony having to say or program anything, the drone lifted off the desk, flew over the heads of his arguing teammates, and slid through the cracked driver's side window.

As it set off to scan the warehouse for heat signatures, Tony spun his chair back to the counter and woke up the tablet sitting there. A beat later, FRIDAY's scans appeared on the tablet's screen. It took a minute for the data to render, but then Tony was able to see one blob sitting, a distance away from the two other blobs in the room. Said blob—Pepper, presumably—was thrashing violently and Tony hoped that was just against whatever was holding her in the chair, and not in reaction to something else.

"They're in the back," he announced, sliding the tablet down the counter toward Happy, Rogers, and Rhodey.

"I'll distract up front," Rhodes was quick to say, "you two through the back—and don't argue! It's the best plan we have."

He needn't have qualified it. Rogers and Happy just nodded while Tony watched his drone settle back on the counter and unfold into a pair of glasses again.

"As long as Rogers'll watch my six," he then interjected. He suspected Rogers would, but he needed to be sure before they went down this path.

There wasn't even a beat of hesitation before the supersoldier responded, "Always."

Rhodey's gaze flitted between the two of them before he nodded. "Then it's settled. Hap, keep the car running."

The forehead of security nodded and resituated himself behind the wheel.

Rogers pulled himself upright, then clenched his fist, which caused a set of pointed shields to unfold down his forearms. They were obviously from the Cat King, but if they helped rescue Pepper, Tony couldn't be too bitter.

With that thought running through his mind, Tony tapped the center of his vest and let the suit assemble around him. "Let's go get Pepper."

* * *

The rescue had gone off without a hitch: the bad guys were now in custody and Pepper had been admitted at the hospital. She was shaken but physically fine. She had actually been on the path to being released that day yet, but then the staff had learned she'd lost consciousness and had opted to keep her overnight for observation.

When the staff had left and it was just him and Pepper in the room, Tony begged her to let him build her a suit. She'd once again refused but her objection didn't seem as strong as before. Tony made a note to start purchasing materials—in blue, her favorite color—just in case.

Rogers had melted into the shadows the moment Pepper had been freed from the chair—just a normal chair, not the monstrosity Tony had found in Barnes' old records—and honestly, Tony wasn't expecting to see him again. The supersoldier had taken a huge chance coming back to the Compound. If he'd been caught by Ross, he'd face lifetime imprisonment in that hellhole of a Raft... or worse, given how livid the General became each time Rogers' name was mentioned.

But Rogers had risked all of that for Pepper. Maybe things between the two of them weren't as hopeless as they currently seemed.

That night, the hospital staff gave Pepper a mild sedative, which left Tony with a lot of uninterrupted time to think and worry. He'd just started ordering materials for Pepper's suit when the door to the hallway opened and a familiar voice asked, "How is she?"

Tony looked over to see Rogers standing in the doorway, having apparently been let through by Happy and his battalion of guards. He was wearing a set of scrubs, and had a stethoscope draped around his neck and a badge for a sandy-haired medical student named Alan clipped to his waist.

"I thought you were gone," was all Tony said as he turned back to do his once-a-minute check on Pepper and her vitals.

"I couldn't leave until I knew how she was."

"She'll be fine. Complete recovery expected." For the first time since arriving at the hospital, those words truly began to sink in and Tony actually laughed as some of the weight began to lift off his chest. "Happy may not let her leave the Compound for the next year, but she's fine."

He then cleared his throat, knowing what he had to say next but not wanting to all the same. The word stuck in his throat like dry bread, but he forced it out on his next breath: "Thanks."

"I meant what I wrote to you," Rogers said in reply. "If you ever need me, I'll come."

"Yeah, about that." Tony looked over his shoulder to see the supersoldier's reaction. "An honest-to-God pen-and-paper letter? I got a paper cut just looking at it."

Rogers shrugged but the corner of his mouth tilted up slightly. "It's not like I could beam you a phone."

"I wouldn't have used it. Today." The words slipped out before Tony could stop them but they were true. Though the phone was in the drawer of his lab opposite his suit, it hadn't even occurred to Tony to make the call.

"I know," Rogers replied without a hint of judgement in his tone. "Why do you think I just showed up?"

Tony smirked and might have even huffed out a small laugh, but before he could verbally respond, FRIDAY interrupted via Tony's earpiece. "Boss? General Ross just arrived at the hospital."

"You better go," Tony said to Rogers, but from the expression on the supersoldier's face, he'd heard every word.

"The receiving door is currently propped open to allow Dr. Hodge a smoke break," FRIDAY then added.

Rogers nodded. "Thank you. Both of you." He stepped toward the doorway, but then paused. "I know you don't want to talk about it, Tony, but I really am sorry."

"Me too, Steve," Tony replied, meaning every word, as he reached down and grabbed Pepper's hand.

By the time he looked up again, Steve was gone, but there was a note lying on the covers at the foot of Pepper's bed. It was handwritten, of course, and contained just two lines: the number for the phone Steve had sent him, and the words 'use it', underlined and bolded.

This time, Tony couldn't contain the laugh that burst out of him, which inexplicably increased in intensity until his chest ached and his cheeks hurt. He had only just begun to calm down when Happy raced into the room, Taser in one hand and the collar of an unknown but frightened nurse, who had obviously been forced into potential service in the other.

The sight just about sent Tony into another fit, but when he saw how concerned Happy looked, he managed to hold it back and school a semi-neutral expression on his face.

"What's wrong, boss?" Happy demanded as he shoved the nurse toward Tony.

"Nothing," Tony panted. The one good thing Steve had done today didn't even come close to fixing their broken relationship—working or otherwise. For that, there was a mountain of back issues that would need to be uncovered and processed by both of them. Siberia was definitely at the top, but throughout the years, there were other things that had built up, which had made it that much easier for Zemo to manipulate them.

Today, though, Steve had cracked open the door to reconciliation with the risk he had taken, and that was enough to unlock some of the tightness in Tony's chest that had settled in since hearing about Laos. Or maybe even since the whole Ultron fiasco.

Feeling lighter than he had in months, Tony smiled at Happy and repeated, honestly, "Nothing at all."

* * *

**And that's the end of _On Your Six_! Thank you all for your support throughout the fic. Your kind comments, favorites, follows and kudos mean the world to me.**

**I have another Clint and Steve friendship/adventure fic set in 2013 in the works that I'll hopefully post before the end of the year. For more information and potential dates, you can check out my Tumblr at usaOneTwoThree.**

**For the last time this fic, I will say, "Thanks for reading!" and "I'd love to know what you thought on your way out!" :)**


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